Introduction About Translation and Interpretation

Transcription

Nr. 17/2016
HERMENEIA
Journal of Hermeneutics, Art Theory and Criticism
Topic: Translation and Interpretation
Editura Fundaţiei Academice AXIS
IAŞI, 2016
Advisory board
Ştefan AFLOROAEI, Prof. Dr., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Sorin ALEXANDRESCU, Prof. Dr., University of Bucarest, Romania
Aurel CODOBAN, Prof. Dr., Babeş-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania
Denis CUNNINGHAM, General Secretary, Fédération Internationale des Professeurs de
Langues Vivantes (FIPLV)
Ioanna KUÇURADI, Prof. Dr., Maltepe University, Turkey
Roger POUIVET, Prof. Dr., Nancy 2 University, France
Constantin SĂLĂVĂSTRU, Prof. Dr., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Jean-Jacques WUNENBURGER , Prof. Dr., Jean Moulin University, Lyon, France
Editor in Chief
Petru BEJAN, Prof. Dr., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Editorial board
Antonela CORBAN, PhD., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Valentin COZMESCU, PhD., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Florin CRÎȘMĂREANU, Researcher Dr., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Ciprian JELER, Researcher Dr., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Cristian MOISUC, Assistant Dr., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Horia PĂTRAȘCU, PhD., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania
Dana ŢABREA, PhD., Al. I. Cuza University, Iasi, Romania (Deputy Editor)
Journal coverage
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Journal’s Address
Alexandru Ioan Cuza University of Iasi, Romania
Department of Philosophy and Social-Political Sciences
Blvd. Carol I nr. 11, 700506, Iasi, Romania
Email: [email protected] Web: www.hermeneia.ro
Editor’s Address
Axis Academic Foundation
Tel/Fax: 0232.201653
Email: [email protected]
ISSN print: 1453-9047
ISSN online: 2069-8291
TOPIC: TRANSLATION AND INTERPRETATION
Summary
Introduction: About Translation and Interpretation ......................................... 7
(Guest Editor: Florin CRÎŞMĂREANU)
Petru BEJAN
A Hermeneutics of the Image .................................................................................. 10
Alexander BAUMGARTEN
Doctrinal remarks on Godescalc of Nepomuk’s
Prologue to the Sentences commentary ................................................................ 15
George BONDOR
La référence et les mondes possibles.
Enjeux de l’interprétation et de la traduction ...................................................... 29
Andrei BERESCHI
Translating Aristotelian Political Morphology into Medieval Latin:
The Cases of Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas and Dante Alighieri ........ 38
Corneliu BILBA
Jeux de langage, paradigme linguistique et traduction des concepts.
Le cas de la Politik comme politique d’Etat ........................................................ 53
Cezara HUMĂ
Hegel und seine Antigone-Rezeption in der Phänomenologie
des Geistes und in den Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik .................................... 72
Constantin-Ionuț MIHAI
Competing Arts: Medicine and Philosophy
in Aristotle’s Protrepticus........................................................................................... 87
Constantin RĂCHITĂ
The Translation and Interpretation of Genesis 47, 31.
The LXX Vocalization of the Hebrew Text and Patristic Exegesis ............. 97
Fănel ŞUTEU
Pauline superlatives in the horizon of Romanian biblical translations:
polymorphic valencies of the preposition ὑπέρ (hyper).................................... 107
Victor Alexandru PRICOPI
Gnostic exegesis on book of Genesis ..................................................................... 121
Petru MOLODEȚ-JITEA
The preamble of the Gospel according to John – Its significance
in the hermeneutical conflict between the Bishop Irenaeus of Lyons
and the gnostic school of Valentinus ..................................................................... 134
Emanuel GROSU
Horace: Carmina, I, 38. Epicureanism and vegetal symbols .......................... 146
Florin CRÎŞMĂREANU
Origène et les limites de l’interprétation: littéral et anagogique ................... 154
Dragoș MÎRŞANU
From Greek Authority to Hebrew Verity and Back:
The Question of the Source Text of the Latin Old Testament
in the Correspondence between Saints Augustine and Jerome ..................... 163
Florina-Rodica HARIGA
A Hermeneutical Exercise: Understanding Bonaventure’s
Itinerarium mentis in Deum as a Treatise about Education .......................... 175
Gelu SABĂU
Nietzsche, Christianity and the Moral Idol .......................................................... 185
Eugenia ZAIŢEV
Kritik der Urteilskraft in the perimeter
of translation and interpretation .............................................................................. 197
Ciprian JELER
Traduire le darwinisme dans le domaine sociopolitique:
sur quelques stratégies (més)interprétatives à l’œuvre
dans le darwinisme social .......................................................................................... 204
Frăguța ZAHARIA
Le « néant » heidéggerien dans l’interprétation
d’un étudiant roumain du philosophe allemand ................................................. 221
Camelia GRĂDINARU
Memory, Interpretation and Connectedness:
The Imagined Part of Virtual Communities ........................................................ 233
Dana ŢABREA
The spectacular world. Translation and Interpretation in
Scarred Hearts by M. Blecher ................................................................................... 243
Varia
Roxana PATRAŞ
Dematerialization and Form-of-Life in Matila Ghyka’s Writings ................. 253
Ilaria ACQUAVIVA
La realitas objectiva nella dottrina suáreziana del concetto:
conceptus objectivus e conceptus formalis
nelle Disputationes metaphysicae ........................................................................... 266
Interviews
Pierfrancesco STAGI (Intervista con Tudor Petcu).......................................................... 284
Introduction: About Translation and Interpretation
Introduction
About Translation and Interpretation
On the 10 th and 11 th of November the Centre of Hermeneutics,
Phenomenology and Practical Philosophy of The University “Alexandru
Ioan Cuza” of Iaşi organized the National Colloquium entitled Translation
and Interpretation. This academic event has for now an uninterrupted
tradition, and this year the Colloquium reached its 8th edition.
What could justify the organization of a colloquium about translation
and interpretation nowadays? This question is very simple, but, at the same
time, one may not easily find a satisfying answer. I tend to believe that the
arguments may be found by acknowledging the evident context in which
both aspects (translation and interpretation) are being regarded as essential
components, not only of certain areas such as Philosophy, Theology,
Linguistics or any other, but of our everyday lives, because they are to be
found in people’s lives as long as they are trying to understand situations,
contexts, and aspects of their lives. In order to succeed in their endeavours,
it is necessary that human beings would translate the respective situations of
their lives into their own individual language.
Even if as a strictly methodological procedure, translation and
interpretation are being analysed, as a general rule, separately. Actually, they
have a common destination, not knowing all the time which one precedes
the other. Evidence enables us to state that interpretation assumes the act of
translation as being preliminary and we all agree that we cannot interpret a
text of philosophy from ancient Greece, for example, if we do not know
ancient Greek language. For those that do not know this language,
translation asserts itself as a necessity in order to understand something
from that text. On the other side, we cannot make a certain translation by
absolving us from the preliminary data. No matter how hard we try, when
we translate a text, we cannot isolate the tradition, the culture to which we
belong. Not only is the act of translation influenced by our culture and
presuppositions, may it be consciously or not, but our everyday life is also
being guided by these preliminary data. The presuppositions theorized by
R.G. Collingwood and H.-G. Gadamer among others precede any form of
translation.
Some of the papers presented at the colloquium held in Iaşi on the
th
10 and 11 th of November have emphasized the fact that from the
(mis)interpretation of the sacred texts to the translation of the official
documents of the European Union, the art of interpretation has passed
7
through diverse records: from interpretation techniques that initially regarded
self-edification to doctrines of interpretation, like the doctrine of the four
senses of the Scripture. Regardless of the aspect that we acknowledge this
fact or not, translation and interpretation entwine in an inextricable way
with our everyday life. From Nietzsche’s Will to Power we understand that
“facts do not exist; only interpretations exist”. All the more so as we may
affirm that, the act of translation is nothing else than an interpretation! And
each act of our life, as it assumes a relationship regarding things, people or
ourselves. Any relationship that implies understanding may be seen as an act
of translation.
The first time a translation appeared may be identified exactly, along with
the diversity of languages and culture. After Babel, the situation that we
have to assume is excellently related by Walter Benjamin’s expression: “the
labour of the translator”. Ever since, unilateral or bilateral, an exchange of
information and senses existed between different cultures or generations
that belong to the same tradition. The transfer of knowledge (translatio
studiorum) has been done, especially, from a cultural space to another
through translations and in the context of the same tradition this happened
through the means of successive interpretations (in most of the times,
concurrent ones). The reinterpretations of a text may be assimilated to
successive translations, forasmuch as the diverse ways of applying the text
in different life situations (judicial, social, cultural or spiritual) are also
operations of translation. The critical distance between present and past,
like the fusion of horizons (H.-G. Gadamer) shows us some important
personalities that assume translation inside the one and same tradition that
is, the assuming of history and its reiteration (M. Heidegger, H.-G.
Gadamer), or that of memory and forgetting (P. Ricœur). Both present in
different cultures, and inside of one single culture, the phenomenon of
translation exists in a kind of dependency that regards an extensive
„phenomenology of the alien” (B. Waldenfels). Some philosophers of the
20th century, such as Richard Rorty, have abandoned the interpretative
paradigm considering that the texts should be used only for our own
purposes. In other words, each of us makes a spontaneous free translation
of the favourite texts in order to use them for one’s own self-construction
independent of their referring traditions.
Without any doubt, the phenomenon of translation involves some
alternatives through which it may be adequately accepted: comparable versus
incomparable (Marcel Détienne), fidelity versus treason, translatable versus
non-translatable (P. Ricœur). Far from offering any kind of solutions, these
perspectives rather reveal the inherent difficulties of the art of translation.
In order to reach for the details of this phenomenon, one should investigate
the multiple problems that are to be found at the intersection of the
philosophy of language and semiotics with phenomenology, hermeneutics,
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cognitivism and many others. The perspectives of approaching the act of
translation and of interpretation are surely diverse and this aspect has been
fully emphasized by the participants at this Colloquium. The historical and
systematically approaches, that do not belong only to philosophy, but to
philology (to the science of translation), theology, political sciences, sciences
of communication and many others have offered a more complex image of
the themes that have been discussed.
The Faculty of Philosophy and Social-Political Sciences has hosted, at
least in the latest years, many other academic events that have focused on
the phenomenon of interpretation, but, according to my knowledge,
translation has never represented a theme for debate until this year’s
Colloquium. I hope that the recent event dedicated to translation and
interpretation will represent just the beginning of some debates in which the
act of translation should find its well-deserved place. As an organizer of this
Colloquium, I declare myself very satisfied with the quality of the papers
proposed by the 35 participants. Almost every intervention has generated
ample discussions, useful equally to the participants and to the attendees of
this academic event.
In concluding this preface I wish to express my gratitude to Professor
Petru Bejan (the Editor-in-chief of Hermeneia. Journal of Hermeneutics, Art
Theory and Criticism) and to Professor George Bondor (the Scientific Director
of the Centre of Hermeneutics, Phenomenology and Practical Philosophy,
and the Editor-in-chief of the journal Timpul – the media partner of the
event), who helped me very much in implementing the Colloquium in
optimal conditions and also in publishing the texts presented by the
participants at this academic event.
Guest Editor: Florin CRÎŞMĂREANU
9
A Hermeneutics of the Image
Petru BEJAN *
Abstract: The particular hermeneutics or branches of hermeneutics will introduce
variations to the general canons of interpretation. Is interpretation an essentially
subjective bet, relying on the flair and competencies of the interpreter? Or would it
be desirable for the exegetic travail to strive, as much as possible, towards a
maximum of objectivity? Broadly speaking, the positions are centered either on the
“letter” of the text (i.e. on the prime, unequivocal meaning), or on its “spirit”
(targeting a second, derived meaning). Not infrequently, the literal reading was
suspected of reductionism and sterility, while the other – of infidelity and
extravagance. Under-interpretation and over-interpretation seem to be the
extremes to be avoided; one is submissive, suffocated by the authorities (the text
and the author – taken as absolute references), the other one is prone to “fly”, to
exegetical detachment, inadherent to the scruples of a rigorous hermeneutics.
Keywords: hermeneutics, interpretation, image, iconography, iconology, endogenous
hermeneutics
While the reflection on the beautiful had anticipated the configuration of a
discipline of aesthetics, the interpretative practices preceded the establishment
of hermeneutics as rigorous study. After whole centuries of exploration of the
hidden meanings through “working” with the text (be it religious, legal,
literary, philosophical...), it wasn’t until the German Protestant theological
environment, through Schleiermacher, that the first methodological
enterprise, assuming a systematic and general character, was delivered. In
this optic, hermeneutics should be seen as “an art of understanding”.
Convincingly strung, interpretation – either grammatical or psychological –
would help us understand a text as well as the author himself, and maybe
even more. The task of interpretation is infinite, therefore you can rarely
hope to faithfully restore everything. Applied prudently and knowledgeably,
certain rules and principles could bring us closer to the authorial intentions,
so that they can prove to be credible, veridical or plausible. In the absence
of data with the advantage of certainty, we can only afford to speculate or
“guess” the original meaning, the one envisioned by the author only and
deliberately disguised at the surface of his work.
For a long time, the text has been the privileged hermeneutic reference.
The proliferation of artistic practices will divert the attention of researchers
*
“Alexandru Ioan Cuza” University, Iasi, Romania; email: [email protected]
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Petru Bejan
towards an insufficiently explored area – the one of the image. In the
exegetical siege of visuality, the first to mobilize have been aesthetics
(determining the generic speculative frameworks), the theory and history
of art, art criticism. Iconography and iconology have separated as distinct
applications within art history. According to Panofsky, “iconography (...)
concerns itself with the subject matter or meanings of works of art, as
opposed to the form” (Panofsky 1980, 57sq.). Its function is rather
“statistical”; it identifies, describes and classifies motifs found in images,
stories, allegories. Iconology, instead, is a method of interpretation aimed at
the discovery and interpretation of symbolic values, grasping the “life” of
the image from the perspective of the meanings inherent to works. The
statistical cumulation of information may be necessary, but insufficient as a
whole. Its refinement in an interpretative direction would provide greater
satisfaction. Iconology significantly compensates, therefore, the deficit of
speculation. Going along the lines of Aby Warburg and Ernst Cassirer,
Panofsky lays the foundations for a real “science of seeing”, applicable even
today to the image, in a double hypostasis: static (painting, sculpture,
photography, installation) and dynamic (video, film and so on).
Not few are the writings of conceptual elucidation that circumscribe the
same motif. Authors such as Ernst Gombrich, Hans Belting, Regis Debray,
Jean-Jacques Wunenburger, Jacques Morizot describe the mechanisms of
signifying through image, the projections in the imaginary and the
“philosophy” of such signifying. In a philosophical order (phenomenological,
hermeneutic and structuralist), important names such as Martin Heidegger,
Hans-Georg Gadamer, Michel Foucault, Jean-Luc Marion propose ingenious
applications to the understanding of images – secular or religious. In the
iconological direction, the writings of George-Didi Huberman, Daniel
Arasse, Victor-Ieronim Stoichiţă have come into prominence, preoccupied
with the analysis of the vaguely perceptible clues in paintings, the significant
details that escape the hurried eye or “what isn’t seen” clearly.
But there are also positions that contest the relevance of the hermeneutic
project. Susan Sontag, for instance, argues “against” the interpretation of
the work of art, denouncing its “ arrogance”, the systematic aggression
operated by critics and philosophers, for the purpose of exposing its alleged
“content”. Interpretation is “the revenge of the intellect upon art. (...) To
interpret is to impoverish, to deplete the world, in order to set up a shadow
world of meanings” (Sontag 2000, 18 sq.). Investigated with the “scalpel” of
reason, subjected to the “surgery” of thought, the work diminishes its stake.
Instead of a distant, excessively rationalized perception, Sontag proposes a
sensual, “ erotic” reading, proclaiming the principle of the pleasure to
“taste”, to enjoy the work of art directly, and not to reduce it to a sum of
meanings. “What kind of criticism, of commentary on the arts, is desirable
today?”, Sontag wonders. “The best criticism is of this sort that dissolves
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considerations of content into those of form... Our task is to cut back
content so that we can see the thing at all. We must learn to see more, to
hear more, to feel more...”
*
The mistrust regarding the manner in which art criticism is managed today
also motivates the hermeneutic project proposed by Matei Stîrcea-Crăciun
(Crăciun 2016). The author experiences a legitimate dissatisfaction towards
the precariousness of catalog texts and chronicles in the Romanian press, in
which he reads the signs of a real “ crisis”, but one that should be
surmounted. The Endogenous Hermeneutics, the hermeneutics drafted by the
Bucharest researcher, could be a pendant of superficiality or “lăutărism” (a
term by which Noica designated improvisation, working “by ear”) – found
more and more often in the discourse on art.
To a “hermeneutics of the subject” of Foucauldian inspiration, Matei
Stîrcea-Crăciun counterposes one of the object or the image, conceived in
culturological and anthropological patterns. The author denounces, among
others, the insufficiency of the morphological study, the excessive
comparativism, the unsystematic character of the analyses, the overbidding
of biographic evocations, the unjustified speculation. Oriented in an
anthropological direction, art criticism and art history would calibrate their
discourse on “being” not at the aesthetic level, as they did until now, but in an
ethical sense.
The method of “endogenous hermeneutics” has been elaborated in the
“atelier” of Brâncuşi’ sculpture. “Look at my works until you see them”, the
artist demanded. Joining the most important interpreters of the sculptor
from Hobiţa (Carola Giedion-Welcker, Ionel Jianu, Sidney Geist, Petru
Comarnescu, Barbu Brezianu, Dan Grigorescu, Doina Lemny), Matei
Stîrcea-Crăciun articulates a methodology folded on the exigency of
knowing the work from the inside. Anthropological hermeneutics studies the
work of art as a self-centered whole. It aims at “the reconstruction of
the message subjacent to creation through morphological, syntactic and
symbolic research of the work studied”. The method is “ inductive, it
proceeds from the individual to the general, the analytic approach starts
from minimum units and assemblies them on levels of increasing
complexity, up to the register of maximum generality assumed by the
philosophy of culture”. The endogenous approach is “polarly opposed
to comparative, psychological, sociological, semiotic, Marxist, feminist
approaches, and it should precede them”.
Matei Stârcea Crăciun articulates a project as bold as possible. The center
of gravity is represented not by iconology, as would have been somewhat
predictable, nor by traditional hermeneutics, nor by the one fortified by
recent philosophical studies. His exegesis is one of a philologist; he is
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Petru Bejan
concerned with plastic “grammar”, the morphology and syntax of artistic
languages, reference points largely familiar to semiotic methodology as well,
which is in search of clues, items, significant references.
The author bravely creates concepts (endogenous hermeneutics, hylesic
symbolism), formulates principles, establishes rules, analytical tools, goals
and finalities, searches everywhere for arguments that sustain and confirm
his hypotheses. The advantages of the method? It identifies the sources of
inspiration, determines the symbolic significances of every motif, “measures”
the intake of novelty in relation to the sources, establishes convergences
with similar creations, determines the weight of the various themes,
provides culturological circumscribing and positioning.
Matei Stîrcea-Crăciun’s project gives the impression of a will to cover the
work of art in a “totalitarian” manner, but also of objective circumscribing.
Nothing seems to have escaped his hermeneutical “vigilance”. Is it stricto
sensu applicable to the discourse of intimate elucidation of art products? The
answer is affirmative, as already confirmed by the author himself in the
previous grand exegetic endeavours regarding the sculpture of Brâncuşi
(Limbajele materiei) and Paul Neagu (Nouă staţiuni catalictice), both precious
and useful to the monographic studies in the field.
The method of exogenous hermeneutics incites to discussions and
problematizations, matching the assumed ambitions. Will it also provide to
art criticism the anticipated analytical tools? In what manner? Does the
identification of hermeneutic indices, in the manner of accounting, always
provide satisfaction? Will the art critic accept to temper his interpretative
enthusiasm, his evaluative dispositions, his “spirit of finesse”, in order to
mechanically apply a pre-established scheme, in which speculation is both
suspected and repressed ab initio? Does the “endogenous” bet not limit
the field of action of hermeneutics itself, obstructing it in possibilities?
Repressing external references (comparativism, biographism, free associations),
won’t it risk unilateralism or partiality, almost inevitable? How do we
quantify in the economy of creation the accident, the unpredictable, the
spontaneity, the intuition, the genius – all refractory to any methodological
obedience?
Endogenous hermeneutics, of the object or of the image, is of a
delightful coherence. The author “geometrizes” interpretation, “disciplines”
it and codifies it in detail. The invitation to plunge into the “inner horizon”
of the work of art is, in fact, the invitation to visit the “laboratory” of
creation, to pursue the latent energies, the heuristic potential of the works,
the force of symbolic expression and contamination. The “moral” of the
endeavour just mentioned? In order to avoid the derisory, art criticism must
abandon improvisation and superficiality in favour of in-depth research.
As illustrated by Matei Stîrcea-Crăciun’s texts, a sagacious and erudite
hermeneutist of image.
13
References
Belting, Hans. 2004. Pour une anthropologie des images. Paris: Gallimard.
Debray, Regis. 1992. Vie et mort de l’image. Une histoire de regard en Occident. Paris: Galllimard.
Gombrich, Ernst et Eribon, Didier. 2009. Ce que l’image nous dit. Paris: Arléa, Éditions
Cartouche.
Morizot, Jacques. 2005. Qu’est-ce qu’est une image. Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin.
Panofsky, Erwin. 1980. Artă şi semnificaţie. Bucureşti: Editura Meridiane.
Sontag, Susan. 2000. Împotriva interpretării. Bucureşti: Editura Univers.
Stîrcea-Crăciun, Matei. 2016. Tratat de hermeneutică a sculpturii abstracte. Perspectiva endogenă.
Bucureşti: Editura Institutului Cultural Român, Editura Brâncuşi.
Stîrcea-Crăciun, Matei. 2010. Brâncuşi, Limbajele materiei, Bucureşti: Editura Anima.
Stîrcea-Crăciun, Matei. 2013. Paul Neagu. Nouă staţiuni catalitice. Studiu de hermeneutică a
sculpturii abstracte. Bucureşti: Editura Triade / Brumar.
Wunenburger, Jean-Jacques. 2004. Filosofia imaginii. Iaşi: Editura Polirom.
14
Alexander Baumgarten
Alexander BAUMGARTEN*
Doctrinal remarks on Godescalc of Nepomuk’s
Prologue to the Sentences commentary
Abstract: The article discusses the doctrinal aspects of Godescalc of Nepomuk’s
Prologue to the Sentences commentary that is preserved in a manuscript (Krakow,
BJ, 1499). The central idea of my intervention is an interpretation of the
Cistercian’s position in the debate about the complexe significabile and the
hermeneutic turn of the Cistercian theology in the second half of the 14th century.
It is in this context that I analyze the originality of this author in relation to his
sources: Henry of Ghent, Adam of Wodeham and Gregory of Rimini.
Keywords: Godescalc of Nepomuk, Cistercian theology, Sentences commentaries,
complexe significabile, hermeneutics
Paris, 1367. The Cistercian monk Godescalc of Nepomuk1 presents his
commentary on Peter Lombard’s Book of Sentences as the main subject in
the study of theology at Collège des Bernardins in Paris. As a result of this
course, he obtained the title of magister theologiae. He dies shortly after,
probably at a very young age. James of Eltville, magister Sententiarum at the
same university in 1369, and who was close to him, cites him and confirms
he is no longer alive. As part of the university practice, his commentary was
copied and disseminated. Unfortunately, only one copy survived and it has
some lacunae: manuscript 1499 of the Jagiellońska Library in Krakow. To
this exemplar we could have added at least one other that was mentioned in
the bibliographies written at the end of the 19th century in Turin, but this
library burned in 1904 and a good part of its collections were destroyed.
Throughout this article I am exclusively dedicated to the doctrinal analysis
of his Prologue.
Godescalc’s commentary might tell striking things to the today’s reader:
that theology is a science we can exercise through a special human
disposition, that its nature is purely hermeneutic, that the tradition of the
Christian community reserves the right to interpret the Bible. We add to
this three pieces of information: (1) Godescalc expands, follows and
sometimes criticizes, among others, Gregory of Rimini, who commented on
the Sentences in Paris in 1340-1342; the latter’s commentary has a strong
Augustinian and Anselmian turn; (2) younger colleagues of Godescalc that
*
“Babeş-Bolyai” University Cluj-Napoca, Romania; email: [email protected]
15
Doctrinal remarks on Godescalc of Nepomuk‟s Prologue to the Sentences commentary
share a common intellectual ground with him migrate to central European
universities (James of Eltville), some of them becoming founders of the
university in Vienna (especially Nicholas of Dinkelsbühl); (3) after the
Council of Trent, the Counter-Reformation definitively removes the
university practice of commentaries on the Sentences and replaces it with
the study of Thomas Aquinas’ Summa. The ambiguities in the history of
ideas make it very difficult to say what became of Godescalc’s ideas starting
with his efforts to support the Scripture’s priority, to defend and give
nobility- as we will show- to theology and the university seen as a place for
professional interpreters. These three events in the intellectual history
emphasize the importance of editing and interpreting Godescalc of
Nepomuk’s commentary on the Sentences, and that means to rediscover
him in the contemporary culture.
The Prologue comprises four quaestiones, each with its own introduction
into the limits of pro and contra of the debate. The first quaestio discusses
the hermeneutic condition of theology, thus accomplishing the Augustinian
agenda to orient the theological culture towards the interpretation of
Scripture. The introduction to this quaestio refers to the very well known
quotation from De trinitate, XIV, 1, where the “theological science” does
not convert the divine mystery into full knowledge, but rather provides the
arguments that produce and strengthen faith. It is on this “weak” form
(weak compared to the beatific knowledge) that the distinction between
science in itself and scientific disposition is founded in both Gregory of Rimini
and Godescalc. Therefore, Godescalc sees the theological principles as
belonging exclusively to the Biblical text, which makes him reiterate Henry
of Ghent’s criticism of the Thomistic theory of subalternation. As such,
theology is an interpretation of Scripture or a demonstration that starts with
propositions taken as principles. The narrative character (narratorie – §. 39,
confirmed in §. 34) of the sacred text does not produce a deductive science
of theology, but a scientific disposition based on the assent (the term is
already in §. 11) to the Scripture, but which also produces an assent (§. 42)
to the principles of the Scripture through the conclusions of theology. The
Scripture, on the other hand, as a given divine document: (1) requires
theological procedure due to the fact that the first meaning of all its
propositions belongs to the Holy Spirit, which does not suggest that these
meanings were necessarily literal while they were being inspired (§. 36);
(2) intrinsically authorizes interpretation because it usually contains demonstrative
connections that can only be identified between its propositions (§. 50), and
because the position authorized by Christ in the New Testament (compared
to the Old Testament) is that of the interpreter, where Christ is basically a
theologian (§. 51); (3) puts the Christian in the historical position of the
interpreter (same §. 51), because what is for Christ a theological conclusion
becomes a principle in the history of Christianity (§. 53). But this position is
16
also modified by history either because the use of citations from pagan
literature disappears with the pagans that deserve to be converted by the
moderni (§. 31 and §. 32), or because the first Christian centuries bring forth
credible events, like the symbol and legitimacy of popes (At the beginning
of quaestio 2, a. 1, §. 5-15; 6-12 come from Ockham’s Dialogues). It must be
mentioned that the fact that at a time when the term “moderni” usually refers
to the “antiqui” theologians like Thomas and Albert, here it is used to refer
to the patristic literature. If we can identify here the three functions of
Scripture, they can be related to the quality of the theological discourse: it is
hermeneutic to the point where theology acts like any other science, except
the fact that its principles are not inserted in the human mind by the natural
light, but by the established text and in a textual form. This is what gives
autonomy to the theological discourse compared to any other science:
(1) there is no theology as part of philosophy (against a medieval tradition
of “philosophers’ theology”2); (2) the way other sciences build their truth is
not hermeneutic (§. 58-60) and (3) theology provides a uniform repartition
of the preceding faith in relation to the propositions of the Scripture
because it interprets them (§. 45-47). The following article that resumes q. 2,
a. 2 from Gregory’s Prologue, clarifies the position of theology as a
disposition that produces assent. It is disposition inasmuch as it belongs to
the condition of the viator and produces assent if there is a preceding faith.
But between the faith that is presumed and the one that is produced there is
no contradiction, because the presumed faith is an assent that didn’t
eliminate the fear of the contrary, while theology produces “a firm
disposition in relation to its object” (§. 98). This “adhesion without fear”
(§. 96), as a product of theology, becomes in §.107 a reply to Avicenna’s
definition of opinion in On the soul I, 5, but also underlines the condition of
“habitus creditivus” of theology (which was Gregory’s contribution in the
debate with Peter of Auriol).
The sources of this quaestio instruct our understanding of Godescalc’s
independence as a thinker: the second article owes greatly to Gregory, but
the first two conclusions of the first article only contain a few passages from
him that also reinforce the Scripture’s condition as a principle in the
scientific disposition of the theologian; Gregory didn’t transform this
condition in an exclusively historical and cultural one for the Christian.
Moreover, Gregory presented these things as an application of the theory of
the object of science that he developed in his Prologue, while Godescalc
puts the primacy of Scripture in the role of principle. The exclusive
character of theology in relation to other sciences (almost the entire third
conclusion of the article) that is not found in Gregory, is taken from
Chatton. Walter Chatton brought forth this principle against Ockham’s
opinion in the discussion about the object versus the subject of a theological
science, without the hermeneutic turn that Godescalc refers to.
17
Quaestio 2 contains Godescalc’s epistemology. Its title might disorient the
reader due to the words “Utrum „Deum esse‟...” that indicate through the
infinitive the complexe significabile, even though we can assume from the
contents of the article (§. 2 şi 109) that the author refers to this question only
to find out if the proposition Deum esse is the object of the student in
theology. Such a question brings back the debates between Ockham,
Holkot, Chatton and Gregory of Rimini’s reply. But Godescalc’s position is
a new one and it openly criticizes Gregory’s theory. In this sense we can
suspect a strategy that Godescalc created to present his quaestio: firstly, it
surprises us that he ceases to discuss the concept of scientific disposition
(habitus scientificus belonging to theology), and instead discusses the concept
of science generally. Then, he indicates he does this in article 2, after
explaining the object of theology in a “special sense” in the first article
(instead of doing the contrary and presenting a general definition that could
absorb the particular one). Lastly, it is also surprising that he exemplifies the
theological proposition with the infinitive “Deum esse” for which he
describes the privileged status that will determine the difference between
theology and other sciences. These remarks can orient the reading of this
quaestio, because in the first article we will see that Godescalc shows how the
special condition of the proposition “Deum esse” makes of its referent “the
first object in the category of the complexe significabile for the one who
studies the sacred text” (§. 53). The second article that gives a general theory
of science completely denies the value of the theory of complexe
significabile (attributed by Godescalc to Gregory!); with this separation
from Gregory, Godescalc develops a “mentalist” epistemology in the
footsteps of Robert Holkot. How can we understand such a position? Can
we see the change in vocabulary (scientia for habitus scientificus) as explaining
the criticism of the complexe significabile, where this criticism doesn’t apply
to the entire doctrine, but rather only to its application in theology (as in
article 1) and not in other sciences (as in article 2)? If such an interpretation
is valid, then we are faced with an interesting case where Godescalc
narrowed Gregory’s theory exclusively to theology and declared it
inapplicable to other sciences. By doing so, he legitimates Holkot’s theory
who declares the mental proposition as being the object of sciences. We are
tempted to answer affirmatively to the last question based on the example
in the proposition “Deum esse”, but also on the possible relation between
quaestio 1 and 2.
Indeed, in the first article of this quaestio, Godescalc asserts the diversity
of theology’s objects that surpass the sphere of the Scripture and
encompass the historical experience of Christianity (the symbol, pope’s
legitimacy, examples from Ockham’s Dialogues in §. 7-8). These objects are
not, of course, principles in theology that were reduced in quaestio 1 to the
propositions of the Scripture. In the sphere of “objects”, says Godescalc,
18
the fact enunciated in a proposition with infinitive, like “Deum esse”, is
primordial. He states these things while borrowing from Iohannes de Ripa’s
Conclusiones (who commented on the Sentences a decade before Godescalc,
but who continues to be a magister theologiae at Paris in 1367). He uses these
propositions as conclusions and sometimes as corollaries. They speak about
“Deum esse” as “the first truth in the absolute sense” and “the truth that is a
complexe significabile” (§. 16, 37 sau 47). The privilege of this proposition
to express “the truth in the absolute sense” is given by the fact that the
predicate “has no correspondence with the subject” (§. 20). This means that
the predicate only renders the internal nature of the subject, which for
Godescalc means that “the divine essence understands that truth and not
through the truth, but through the essence”. We can say the allusion is to
the God of the Exodus, but the author doesn’t cite this passage, but
continues to use Gregory’s terminology to build up to a surprising
proposition: “God is” is the first complexe significabile – “‟Deum esse‟ est
primum complexum significabile complexe”. It is surprising because no significabile
is a complexum for Gregory, meaning a proposition, but is something that can
be signified by means of a proposition, complexe. However, “Deum esse” is a
proposition and a complexe significabile, which means it both signifies and
it is signified. For an explanation, we go back to §. 26: “the divine essence
understands that truth” which is signified, and the student in theology as the
one that signifies. Godescalc doesn’t explicitly say this, but he adds to §. 51
the fact that “the object of theology is not something that can be known or
done outside God” (§. 54). This could also mean that in the sphere of
theology (which, we already know, is a scientific disposition and works on
the principles found in Scripture) the theory of the complexe significabile
only stands because God is its guarantee, exactly what the proposition
“Deum esse”3 argues for, which is an object of knowledge in the absolute
sense, surpassing even the principles of logic (according to §. 63-64 that
declares this priority in the causal order established by the complexe
significabile, the opposite can be considered). The privileged position of the
proposition pinpoints to the fact that the divined knowledge is revealed
(when we talk either about the Scripture or the possibility of a notitia
intuitiva, as in q. 4).
Such a foundation for theology (and also a salvation for the basis of
theology) of the complexe significabile leads in article 2 to a general theory
of science. This covers the first 2 conclusions and is inspired by Robert
Holkot’s theory of mental propositions from his Sentences commentary II,
2, 2 and Conferences, a.1. This theory says that the object of science is the
mental proposition, not the vocal one, otherwise we would stumble upon
the ambiguity given by the sound of words that mean different things in
different languages and can no longer be objects of science (§. 73). On the
other hand, the importance of mental propositions is proved by the fact
19
that they don’t rely on experience (the example of the child who knows the
milk is sweet, in §. 88, or the closed book whose meanings don’t disappear
when you close it, in §. 79).
Godescalc criticizes Gregory exactly from this perspective of the mental
propositions seen as objects of science: because they are neither true, nor
false, the theory of the complexe significabile cannot be verified (§. 84-86),
they have no internal basis, and their possibility to be false doesn’t have a
“first fallacy” that could correspond to the “first truth”. Moreover,
conclusion 3 states that “any science has a complex or a proposition as its
object, not a complexe significabile” (§. 94). We can understand this either
in relation to the first two conclusions, in which case “propositio” would
mean a mental proposition as found in Holkot, either strictly literal (de virtute
sermonis), in which case it would invoke Ockham. Despite its literal sense, it
is difficult to admit here a new gap between a general theory of knowledge
(that supports the mental propositions) and an Ockhamist theory. It is
therefore more reasonable to admit here that the entire article supported
Holkot’s position.
No matter how the things are in this last regard, the opposition between
the two articles remains and this means that the narrowing in the
application of the complexe significabile to theology is, for now,
Godescalc’s contribution.
Quaestio 3 starts with an article that shows a symmetry of composition in
the Prologue: q. 1 discussed the value of Scripture as a source of theological
principle and the hermeneutic orientation of theology, q. 2 brought
epistemological arguments in this sense. Now, q. 3, a.1 goes back and puts
the discussion in q. 1 in a new light in order to be completed by the rest of
the Prologue with new arguments about the nature of will and the
possibility of miracles. In this symmetrical scheme, q. 3, a.1 has a central
role that articulates Godescalc’s startling statement: the Christian community
with an historical tradition and a theological education owes belief to the
sacred text rather than to the Church (magis fidem adhibere contentis in Sacra
Scriptura quam Ecclesiae: §. 36). Such a statement doesn’t hold at Godescalc a
reformist stake (his text doesn’t say it); both his sources and his
argumentation seem to support the theologian’s dignity who has an
university education, which, in fact, Godescalc is. We’ve already seen in q. 1
just how important is in establishing theology as a scientific disposition the
fact that the propositions of Scripture are principles, not theological
conclusions (with some exceptions that legitimated its interpretation).
Godescalc repeats here this idea relying on a passage from Thomas of
Argentina, a notorious figure of Augustinism and general of the Augustinian
order before Rimini (§. 6). In Godescalc’s view, such an authority gives
legitimacy to the theology that produces conclusions “which are better
known than the principles themselves” (§. 14), but only as long as we’re
20
talking about homo viator, who can be recognized in the expression “theologia
nostra” in §. 13. It is also noteworthy the fact that in §. 15 the first argument
against the conclusions, rejected by Godescalc in §. 18, is taken from
Gregory (he says that the theological discourse would incline towards
principles, which already contradicts Godescalc), and this means Godescalc
is situated here at a distance compared to the Augustinian author.
The central idea of the article is found in §. 21 under the name of “magna
difficultas” and it introduces a division: for the recently converted, the
Church can come before Scripture, but for the other Christians, it must be
the opposite. Indeed, the Church can be efficient in the conversion because
the newly converted might not know the importance of Scripture, but to
Godescalc the dependence of Church on the Bible is something obvious
and the likelihood that the historical circumstances might retreat the
influence of the Holy Spirit from the Church is confirmed at least during
the passions of Christ or the future Antichrist (§. 40). Even though the
passage might elegantly avoid an allusion to the controversial papacy at
Avignon, such an allusion would overburden the text. In fact, at the level of
theoretical principles of his text, Godescalc supports his assertions on a
selection of propositions from Henry of Ghent, Summa, art. IX-X, or their
paraphrase, which renders them authority. However, Henry’s doctrine was
not so sharp. In §. 29, Godescalc uses the first sentence of Liber de causis
(“any first primary cause has a greater influence on the effect than a
universal secondary cause”4), but it does so apud Henry; the latter used it in
art. IX, q. 3, f. 72v only to prove God’s authority on the Scripture, while
Godescalc employs it in a causal sequence (God, Scripture, Church and the
Christian community) for which the sentence applies. In art. X, q. 1, f. 73v,
Henry too talks about the right of those who already converted to make the
primacy of Church come second after the primacy of Scripture, especially
in times of crisis. But Henry’s text doesn’t say that this right would
permanently put the Christian community above ecclesiastical decisions.
“Quoad primam igitur fidei generationem et susceptionem magis valet Ecclesiae
auctoritas quam Scripturae (...). Ad fidem autem iam genitam confirmandam et
corroborandam in fideli maxime valet auctoritas intellecta Sacrae Scripturae, cui
fidelis adhaeret, etsi videret illos per quos fidem acceperat a fide resilire, et per
impossibile totam ecclesiam in aliis a fide discedere.”5
What was for Henry an absurd example (per impossibile), for Godescalc
becomes a rightful order that situated the Christian community that
interprets the Scripture above the ecclesiastics. For this, Godescalc brings
forth two arguments. First of all, because the converted Christians have a
history debated in q. 1 and linked to the hermeneutic status of theology and
which reappears here due to the fact that they don’t need to be converted
21
anymore since it is related to the original conversion of the entire Christian
community. Second of all, because these Christians are competent in
interpreting Scripture. The primacy of Scripture over the Church 6 only
applies to them, as we are told in §. 56:
“Alioquin quilibet fidelis et noviter baptizatus adultus et qui numquam legit vel
audivit Sacram Scripturam, recipiens symbolum credendum ab Ecclesia et
habens illud principium, theologice posset concludere quemlibet articulum fidei
et sic absque studio et notitia foret theologus, quod nullus sapiens diceret, ut
puto” (Godescalc of Nepomuk, Comm. in Sent., Prol., q. 3, a. 1, §. 56, apud Greg.
Arim., In I Sent., t. I Prol., q. 1, p. 22, l. 24 – p. 23, l. 2).
Of course, the text alludes to the academic competence of the theologian.
However, it is surprising that it is copied from Gregory. Can we see this
situation of a juxtaposition of implicit sources from Henry of Ghent with
others from Gregory of Rimini as the sheltering of a scandalous idea under
the authority of two consecrated and doctrinally indisputable authors? An
affirmative answer could stand through the following argument: Gregory
insists upon the necessity of the theologian’s academic competence in front
of the newly baptized adult who wishes to interpret the sacred text (allusion
to Augustin, De doctrina christiana, Prologue, 17). Henry underlines a situation
he declares absurd and purely hypothetical. Godescalc declares the situation
of a rightful state and attributes it to the competent theologian, making thus
both positions shift their meaning through the simple juxtaposition. For this
reason, the meaning of Godescalc’s words, even though they don’t suggest
an act of universal reform, are nonetheless a plea for university, theology
and scientific disposition.
The next two articles that end q. 3 discuss the value of will joined by the
miracle to produce assent to the article of faith beyond the limits of reason.
They are not very systematic: the beginning of article 2 announces 3
conclusions, but we only see one (§. 58), and the title of the last article
seems to be the same with the previous one. They do, however, contain the
thread of a continuous argumentation: article 1 discusses the problem of the
relation between nature and miracle, asserting the supremacy of an
omnipotent God in the created nature that He surpasses through His
decisions, but always according to the established receptiveness of this
nature (§.77). This keeps the articles of faith from seeming irrational, even
though their object is limited to the sphere of nature. The harmony where
the limits of reason are not breached points to a primacy of will that
corresponds to the miracle that surpasses the natural order. This article is in
extreme debt to its sources: after using a massive chunk of text from
Thomas of Argentina, with a series of fragments from Holkot and Gregory,
from §.78 to the end we see a long section copied from Henry of Ghent.
22
Henry’s presence can be explained by the fact that he is one of the main
medieval supporters of the primacy of will over reason. Holkot’s presence is
rather discrete and is only employed to invoke a counterargument (§. 73) or
to show how the truth in the articles of faith could contradict the
reasonable appearances (§. 75). Gregory is only used to prove the aptitude
of nature to support divine miracles (especially §.77).
But the second and third articles are decisive in the argumentation of this
quaestio: the compatibility between miracle, nature and the importance of
will become in these articles a eulogy to reason (if in §. 60-61 any argument
against faith can be rationally rejected, that means the rightful domain of the
theologian, who is a specialist in the arguments, extends over all the
polemics that the Christianity can possibly have; moreover, §. 79 declares as
irrational any sentence against the Scripture). This rationality of faith that
resulted from the combination between Thomas of Argentina, Holkot and
Henry of Ghent makes way for the subject of article 3: if the assent can be
given to faith by someone without a supernatural disposition (§. 94 and the
following are taken from Durandus of Saint-Pourçain), however (§. 99) “the
true or scientific knowledge” of the articles of faith cannot be obtained
without the theologian’s help.
This §. 99 is essential in Godescalc’s arguments (he thus announces the
link with the last quaestio; this is why we will come back to it) because it
shows how taking from Durandus was enough to underline the importance
that the theologian bears in the achievement of assent; but now Godescalc
turns against Henry of Ghent (and thus joining Thomas of Argentina’s
criticism) and denies the fact that the theological “light”, different from any
other light, has validity7. The theologian doesn’t seem to have anything
characteristic other than the hermeneutic competence in Scripture and for
achieving faith (in §. 106, still with Thomas) it suffices that the believers
“know how to study theology”. The last two conclusions project in the
faculties of the non-believer that can be converted this sufficient condition
of theology; even if the will is essential for the assent to the articles of faith,
its simple use is not enough (and it wouldn’t produce merit: §. 112), but the
reason (meaning the use of arguments with theological competence) is, in
fact, the one that joins the will (even it if stays the main reason for the
assent: §. 125) to finally produce this assent. We take from here a concept of
liberty where reason and servitude play a determinant role: “the more
someone subjects himself to God, the more he makes use of a greater
liberty” (§. 150).
In the last quaestio of the Prologue we can clearly see how Godescalc
directed his discourse (and the selection of implicit sources) in order to
clarify the importance of Scripture in the study of theology, to narrow the
sphere of the complexe significabile, to support the primacy of the
theologian’s competence before the prelate’s decision, and to introduce the
23
necessity for a theologian in the relation between the faculties of the spirit
engaged in achieving assent. But why the previous §. 99 (that only had
negative content, because it said that a person cannot reach the scientific
truth of the faith only through his faculties, but he is required a supernatural
gift) explicitly points towards the last quaestio, even though Godescalc had
already denied (along with Thomas of Argentina) the Henry of Ghent’s
theory of the theological light that has a divine source? The answer might
come from the analysis of this last part of the Prologue, even though
Godescalc offers no clarification for this “supernatural gift”, but he is rather
content with just underlining its possibility. The structure of the last quaestio
is atypical: it asks whether the viator as a viator holds the possibility of an
evident knowledge of God. He first clarifies the terms (sheltered under
Durandus’ and Thomas’ “orthodoxy”), then offers 3 conclusions (first
taken from Wodeham, the second from Durandus, Thomas of Argentina,
and Chatton and the third from Thomas only) in order to build a part with
a single conclusion that answers the main question, where he follows Adam
of Wodeham only in the arguments, not in the conclusion (§. 61) that
appears to be Godescalc’s original contribution. The combination of these
sources helps Godescalc shelter under authorities a conclusion that only
belongs to him and which was, in fact, announced in §. 99 from the
previous quaestio, but which is not spelled out here, even if it is necessarily
deduced. Actually, the arguments are as follows: in the introduction,
Godescalc asserts the possibility that God can communicate the intuitive
knowledge to the viator without changing his status (§. 3). In the part where
he clarifies the terms, the evident knowledge is defined as the one through
which “we assent to the known object without the will” (§. 5). If we link
this statement to the previous quaestio, we can see that Godescalc has kept
the reason as the first motor of the assent because it is not eliminated by the
evident knowledge. But the human knowledge, be it evident or confused,
can be (same §. 5) threefold: intuitive, abstractive and argumentative. The
following sections of this quaestio prove it to be impossible that God offers a
viator an evident intuitive knowledge or an evident abstractive one.
What the reader can do now is to deduce the only possibility left:
Godescalc admits God can communicate to a viator an evident knowledge
only through the argumentative method. This is what the last conclusion of
the entire Prologue asserts (§. 61 which becomes the only one that directly
answers to §. 99 of the previous quaestio): “the evident knowledge of the
theological truths can be shared through the divine power to the viator etc”.
Therefore, only the theologian can have this privilege. The following
arguments are taken from Wodeham, Prologue, q. 1, a. 2 and q. 2, a. 1 and do
not indicate theology, but only talk about the possibility of a notitia evidens
given by God to a viator. It is nonetheless true that Wodeham himself began
his commentary on the Sentences by stating that someone who studies
24
theology can achieve this merit for the eternal life because such an evident
knowledge is possible8 (the same is said in the first question of the first
distinction by James of Eltville, the younger Cistercian brother of
Godescalc).
The discussion about the intuitive knowledge vs. the abstractive
knowledge is a very common one in the 14th century and has its own history
(Tachau 1988) that goes back to Scotus and Ockham, authors that we
cannot discuss here. However, the introduction of the third type of
knowledge, argumentativa, that corresponds to the theologian is interesting; it
shows up in §. 5 because the relation between these types of knowledge and
the faculties of the spirit shows how the man can build even the intuitions
of the singular objects by means of species, and the sensitivity can also be
abstractiva. In order to make a difference between the abstractive sensitive
knowledge and the abstractive intellectual knowledge, Godescalc names the
last one “argumentative”. If the first conclusion separates God’s knowledge
from the achievement of the beatific status, the second conclusion (§. 36)
explicitly denies the possibility for a viator to have an abstractive knowledge of
God, the expression being taken largely, not specifically (argumentatively).
That Godescalc insists upon this aspect (and even notes it when he
revises the manuscript) is a further argument for the elimination of the two
possibilities so that only one can prevail. The arguments of this conclusion
that eliminates the two types of knowledge is founded on the excellence of
the object that surpasses the faculties and whose apparition cannot produce
knowledge, but it overcomes it (if we may assert something possibly too
freely for a researcher in the medieval culture, we would be tempted to
think that a saturated phenomenon is not really a knowledge, but rather a
simple perplexity). Godescalc’s viator remains in his own condition even
when he thinks the divine (Pavel’s memory after the abduction is just an act
of memory, therefore an abstraction with mundane instruments- our author
says this in §. 46).
The broad view over these four quaestiones of the Prologue leads to a
coherent fact: Godescalc of Nepomuk is interested in an authoritative use
of some theories and fragments of consecrated authors that were his
contemporaries, like Thomas of Argentina and Gregory of Rimini (rarely
Durandus of Saint Pourçain); he makes use of a popular theology in Paris at
that time that comes from Ockham’s successors (Chatton, Wodeham,
Holkot), but he is often tempted to rely on the many theories of only one
author from the end of the 14th century, Henry of Ghent (primacy of
Scripture, theological light9, the importance of will), even though these
theories are modified and even enriched by Godescalc.
The use of these authorities, of course, can also be seen as a defensive
strategy against some ecclesiastical censures. Two decades separate him
from other Cistercians (Johannes de Mirecourt, Pierre de Ceffons) whose
25
doctrinal positions restrained by censure might explain, for example, the
structure in Godescalc’s arguments10. But sometimes, the juxtaposition of
authorities can render a new meaning to the doctrines he cites implicitly. By
doing so, Godescalc builds a theory with various innovative aspects: (1) the
primacy of Scripture as a source for the theological principles, (2) a status of
the theologian trained in hermeneutics and who can formulate theological
conclusions, (3) a narrowing to his abilities of the doctrine of complexe
significabile, (4) a primacy of competent interpretation of Scripture for the
Christian community that adopted the history of the Christian doctrine and
education in the study of the text, (5) a doctrine of assent that differs from
that of Gregory, in which reason and will go together, (6) admitting the
possibility of the supernatural gift of the divine knowledge through the
intellectual study.
By editing and studying Godescalc’s Prologue, I was able to offer
material for discussions and some possible explanations for a less known
period in the history of ideas at the University of Paris. Through his courage
and the subtlety of his ideas, our author seems to play a major role in this
history. The most important subject, of course, refers to the value he
attaches to the study of the sacred text; this can be linked to the theology in
Vienna at the end of the 14 th century through the younger German
colleagues in Paris, among whom we find Godescalc, who could transmit it
to the new academic environment11.
It would be an anachronism if we made suppositions about the role of
this idea in the Reformation, over 150 years away from Godescalc, even
more so because Godescalc’s intention was not a reformist one, but he was
rather defending a university guild and its professional status. It is possible
he defends it in the context of a slow, but continuous drain of power from
the University of Paris in relation to the Church after the events of 1277
that marked a moment of maximum influence of the Church12. The fact that
this idea shows up in a synthesis of the Parisian Augustinian theology with
the English influences in the first half of the 14 th century can be seen as
a documented historical fact. This small nucleus of recently gained
information opens up a list of questions for which future researches might
offer an answer. They aim at forming a complete picture of the sources in
the entire commentary written by Godescalc and at understanding his
positions in all his debates, and, at the same time, at studying the implicit
sources that rely on Godescalc, which will only be possible after their
editing. Moreover, there is a need for an answer to the itinerary of the
Jagellonian manuscript, given its momentarily unknown date of entrance in
Krakow and its readers.
All these are, of course, part of the medievalist’s research agenda. But the
opening of the Cistercian’s work cannot halt here. At a quick glance, it is
obvious it is also addressed to the non-medievalist; supporting a condition
26
of the human cultural history dictated by principles contained in a sacred
text, Godescalc of Nepomuk can be legitimately included in the history of
thinkers who talked about the hermeneutic-historical sciences in terms of an
historical condition of the literary culture taken largely and who included in
their discourse a venerable tradition of scholastics.
Notes
All references of this study are to the volume: Godescalc de Nepomuk, 2016. The project
of this edition is part of a larger project for studying and editing medieval Sentences
commentaries that are yet unknown (”Thesis ERC, cod. 313339”, IRHT-CNRS, Paris,
http://www.thesis-project.ro/) that is associated with a national research grant that started
in 2014 at ”Babeş-Bolyai” University in the edition of James of Eltville’s commentary on the
Sentences (Grant CNCS, PN-II-ID-PCE-2012-4-0272, http://www.jacobusdealtavilla.ro/).
These programs are coordinated by my colleague dr. Monica Brînzei (Institut de Recherche
et d’Histoire des Textes, Paris) and have the merit of forming a team of young
paleographers from Cluj who are specialized in various historical or doctrinal problem, in
the manuscript tradition, in the writing and abbreviations of the Sentences commentaries
of the second half of the 14th century. I thank Monica Brînzei and the colleagues from the
mentioned team for their numerous suggestions for this study.
2 For “theologia philosophorum”, see Alexander de Hales, Summa theologica seu sic ab origine dicta
“Summa fratris Alexandri” I, q. 1, cap. 1, ed. Quarrachi (P. Collegii S. Bonaventura, 1924):
“prima philosophia, quae est theologia philosophorum, quae est de causa causarum”.
3 The correspondence between §. 60 (that discusses the relation between “Deum esse” and
the divine attributes) and the respective part from the entire commentary might have
clarified the things, but unfortunately it’s lost.
4 Pseudo-Aristotle, Liber de causis, ed. Adriaan Pattin O.M.I. in Tijdschrift voor Filosofie 28
(1966), p. 11.
5 Henricus de Gandavo, Summa quaestionum ordinariarum (Paris, 1520), X, 1, f. 73v.
6 Henry too compared the authority of the theological science (huius scientiae- its object is
the interpretation of Scripture) with the ecclesiastic authority.
7 Even though Henry’s theory is the one that is being criticized, the words “clarius lumine
fidei, obscurius lumine gloriae” can also be found in Prosper of Reggio, OESA (commentator
on the Sentences in Paris, between 1311 and 1314, according to S. Brown, “Duo candelabra
Parisiensia: Prosper of Reggio in Emiliaʼs Portrait of Enduring Presence of Henry of
Ghent and Godfrey of Fontaines regarding the Nature of Theological Study”, in Nach der
Verurteilung von 1277 / After the Condamnation of 1277, ed. Aertsen, J. et al. [Berlin – New
York: Walter de Gruyter, 2001], p. 320), and who could have been Thomas of Argentina’s
source.
8 Grassi sees here Wodeham’s original point of view. O. Grassi, “Il problema della
conoscenza di Dio nel commento alle Sentenze di Adam Wodeham (Prologo e. q. 1)”,
Medioevo (1982): 43-136.
9 Even though he criticizes it, his theory of the theologian’s supernatural gift allows a subtle
closeness to it.
10 It would be difficult to see a protest of Godescalc’s to the previous censures applied to
his colleagues in Q.1, a. 1, §. 9, where he discusses the audacity in condemning someone in
didn’t understand the Scripture (“Igitur temerarium esset condemnare ad ignem aliquem de quo non
posset constare nisi cum temeritate quod ille erraret intelligendoScripturas.”), since the fragment talks
about condemning someone to the stake. Maybe if we reduced the meaning of the stake to
just burning the books we could read a discrete allusion to the Nicolaus d’Autrecourt.
1
27
About the university environment in Vienna, see M. Brînzei, C. Schabel, “Nicholas of
Dinkelsbühl and the University of Vienna on the Eve of the Reformation”, in What is New
in the New Universities? Learning in Central Europe in Later Middle Ages (1348-1500), ed. E. Jung
(Turnhout: Brepols, 2016) that will soon be published. Regarding the doctrinal relation
between Godescalc and Johannes Hiltalingen de Basel and Iacobus de Altavilla, we will talk
about it in an upcoming study.
12 W. J. Courtenay, “The Parisian Faculty of Theology in the Late Thirteenth and Early
Fourteenth Century”, in Nach der Verurteilung von 1277 / After the Condamnation of 1277, ed. J.
Aertsen et al. (Berlin – New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2001), p. 237 sqq. talks about this
decline that was enhanced after 1290 under the pressure of the French royalty’s efforts to
centralize the French Church and get it under the royal power and augmented by the fact
that the Parisian theology moved from Île-de-France to Sorbonne; it was also confirmed by
the fact that the anti-Ockham censure was rather adopted at the Faculty of arts.
11
References
Alexander de Hales. 1924. Summa theologica seu sic ab origine dicta 'Summa fratris Alexandri'. ed.
Quarrachi: P. Collegii S. Bonaventura.
Courtenay, W. J. 2001. “The Parisian Faculty of Theology in the Late Thirteenth and Early
Fourteenth Century”. In Nach der Verurteilung von 1277 / After the Condamnation of
1277, edited by J. Aertsen et al., 230-247. Berlin – New York: Walter de Gruyter.
Godescalc de Nepomuk. 2016. Teologia ca dispoziţie ştiinţifică (Prologul Comentariului la Cartea
Sentinţelor). Edited by Alexander Baumgarten. Bucureşti: Polirom.
Gregorius Ariminensis. 1982. Lectura super Primum et Secundum Sententiarum. Edited by D.
Trapp, V. Marcolino, W. Eckermann, M. Santos Noya, W. Schultze, W. Simon,
W. Urban, V. Vendland (Spätmittelalter und Reformation Texte und Untersuchungen, 6).
t. I (Prol., et dist. 1-6): 1981; t. II (dist. 7-17). Berlin – New York: Walter de Gruyter.
Guillelmus de Ockham. 2016. Dialogus. Edited by J. Kilcullen, J. Scott, G. Knysh, V. Leppin,
J. Ballweg, K. Ubl, S. Heinen. Acessed October 2, www.britac.ac.uk/pubs/
dialogus/ockdial.html.
Grassi, O. 1982. “Il problema della conoscenza di Dio nel commento alle Sentenze di
Adam Wodeham (Prologo e. q. 1)”. Medioevo – rivista di storia della filosofia medieval 8:
43-136.
Henrici de Gandavo, Summa (quaestiones ordinariae). Edited by G. A Wilson. Leuven: Leuven
University Press, 2005.
Henricus de Gandavo. 1520. Summa quaestionum ordinariarum. Paris: Badius.
Liber de causis. 1966. Edited by Adriaan Pattin O.M.I. In Tijdschrift voor Filosofie 28: 1-115.
Brînzei, M., and Schabel, C. 2016. “Nicholas of Dinkelsbühl and the University of Vienna
on the Eve of the Reformation”. In What is New in the New Universities? Learning in
Central Europe in Later Middle Ages (1348-1500), edited by E. Jung. Turnhout:
Brepols (to be published).
Brown, S. 2001. “Duo candelabra Parisiensia: Prosper of Reggio in Emilia's Portrait of
Enduring Presence of Henry of Ghent and Godfrey of Fontaines regarding the
Nature of Theological Study”. In Nach der Verurteilung von 1277 / After the
Condamnation of 1277. Edited by Aertsen, J. et al, 320-356. Berlin – New York:
Walter de Gruyter.
Tachau, K. H. 1988. Vision and Certitude in the Age of Ockham. Optics, Epistemology and the
Foundations of Semantics (1250-1345). Leiden: Brill.
28
George Bondor
George BONDOR *
La référence et les mondes possibles.
Enjeux de l’interprétation et de la traduction
The Reference and the Possible Worlds:
Stakes of Interpretation and Translation
Abstract: The main aim of this text is to analyse two approaches of the problem
of reference when we deal with the phenomena of interpretation and translation. I
firstly discuss the phenomenological perspective Paul Ricœur develops in his work,
a perspective which includes a semiotic point of view. I further compare his textual
hermeneutics with the purely semiotic theory of Umberto Eco, that explicitly
exclude the phenomenological analysis.
Keywords: Ricœur, Eco, text, interpretation, translation, phenomenology, semiotics
Dans ce texte**, je mettrai en discussion deux manières dont on a traité le
problème de la référence lorsqu’il s’agit des phénomènes de l’interprétation
et de la traduction. Je présenterai dans un premier temps quelques aspects
de la philosophie de Paul Ricœur, pour confronter par la suite la manière
dont le philosophe français met en discussion ce thème avec la manière
dont Umberto Eco le traite. Le premier développe la question d’un
point de vue phénoménologique, en y intégrant toutefois un point de vue
sémiotique, tandis que le deuxième soutient fermement une perspective
purement sémiotique, en refusant de manière explicite toute analyse de type
phénoménologique. En même temps, je montrerai que Ricœur et Eco se
donnent des répliques à distance, parfois sans mentionner de manière
explicite ce fait.
1. Le texte et les espaces vides
Dans un chapitre de l’ouvrage Du texte à l’action. Essais d’herméneutique II,
paru en 1986, Paul Ricœur lance une polémique concernant la définition
habituelle du texte (« tout discours fixé par l’écriture »), en soutenant que
l’écriture n’est pas postérieure à la pensée, mais elle apparaît justement au
La première version de ce texte a été publiée en roumain dans The Proceedings of the
International Conference Communication, Context, Interdisciplinarity , Volume no. 3, 2014,
pp. 512-519.
*
**
29
La référence et les mondes possibles. Enjeux de l’interprétation et de la traduction
lieu de la parole, en l’absence de celle-ci (Ricœur 1986, 138). La pensée
s’exprime soit par laparole, soit par l’écriture. Si la parole unit, le livre
sépare, montre Ricœur. Le lecteur n’est pas présent dans l’acte de l’écriture,
et l’auteur n’est pas présent dans l’acte de lecture. Tandis que le dialogue
présuppose la présence des interlocuteurs, l’écriture et la lecture
présupposent la distance entre l’auteur et le lecteur. La « libération » du texte
du paradigme de l’oralité entraîne un « double bouleversement », montre le
philosophe français: celui du rapport entre le texte et son monde et celui
entre le texte et les subjectivités impliquées (l’auteur et le lecteur).
Analysons tout d’abord la première. Le texte bouleverse la relation du
langage avec le monde. De toute évidence, le texte n’est pas dépourvu de
référence, car il parle de quelque chose, de la réalité. À la différence de la
situation de la parole, dans le cas du texte et de la lecture la réalité dont
on parle n’est pas présente, mais elle doit être effectuée par la lecture,
c’est-à-dire par un acte interprétatif (Ricœur 1986, 140). Dans le cas de la
parole, la réalité est présente avec toutes ses circonstances. On parle soit de
choses qui sont présentes et peuvent être définies de manière ostensive,
étant indiquées en les montrant directement, soit de choses qui ont été ou
seront présenteset qui sont connues des interlocuteurs. La réalité indiquée
par la parole est présente dans la pensée des interlocuteurs, car elle est le
monde même autour d’eux. Dans la situation du dialogue on exprime cette
réalité par des adverbes de temps et de lieu, pronoms personnels, etc. Les
choses dont on parle nous sont données avec le « contexte » du monde
ambiant, de la réalité circonstancielle qui nous entoure, une idée qui a été
très bien cernée du point de vue phénoménologique par Heidegger, dans
les paragraphes 33-34 de son livre Être et temps (Heidegger 1972, 211-227
[§§ 33-34]). Dans un texte, la référence est seulement suggérée par l’auteur
et construite par le lecteur. Ce dernier joue un rôle actif, en contribuant à
l’« effectuation » de la référence, c’est-à-dire, toujours dans des termes
phénoménologiques appliqués à la théorie de la lecture, au « remplissement »
des espaces vides du texte. Ricœur assume l’idée de Roman Ingarden,
conformément à laquelle l’œuvre écrite est toujours non finie, contenant des
lacunes, des « lieux d’indétermination » (Unbestimmtheitsstellen). Ainsi, comme
le montre Ricœur, « le texte est un ensemble d’instructions que le lecteur
individuel ou public accomplit d’une manière passive ou créatrice » (Ricœur
2001a, 142). Pour employer les termes de Wolfgang Iser, chaque texte
contient des espaces vides (Leerstellen), que le lecteur remplit (Iser 1994,
288 ff.). Iser met l’accent sur la réponse du lecteur individuel, tandis que
Hans Robert Jauss invoque la réponse d’un lecteur public au niveau de ses
attentes collectives (Ricœur 2001a, 142). Selon Ricœur, la théorie de la
lecture et, en général, la théorie de la réception doivent éviter les dangers du
psychologisme et du sociologisme. Bien évidemment, le lecteur individuel et
le lecteur public se présupposent mutuellement (Ricœur 2001a, 143). C’est
30
George Bondor
pourquoi, pour ce qui est de chaque texte, ainsi que de chaque contexte de
la vie, on a certaines attentes, liées à ce que nous savons déjà là-dessus, c’està-dire une précompréhension (Vorverständnis), thème sur lequel insistent, de
manières différentes, des auteurs comme Heidegger, Gadamer, Iser et ainsi
de suite. La relation circulaire entre la lecture individuelle et la réception
publique doit être incluse dans la structure circulaire, plus large, entre le
monde de l’œuvre et le monde du lecteur. Selon Ricœur, on doit découvrir
la référentialité de l’œuvre, sa capacité de « remodeler la réalité ». Bref, « la
tâche de l’herméneutique est d’accompagner l’activité structurante qui part
de l’intérieur de la vie, surgit dans le texte et, grâce à la lecture privée et à la
réception publique, retourne à la vie » (Ricœur 2001a, 143).
Dans un texte, la référence est différée. C’est la raison pour laquelle
Ricœur dit que le texte est « hors monde » ou « sans monde », étant de la
sorte libre d’entrer en relation avec tous les autres textes (Ricœur 1986, 141).
Ainsi, il fait partie d’un contexte plus large, à savoir d’un monde
intertextuel, comme celui de la littérature. En fait, le texte met les mots
mêmes en liberté, des mots qui « cessent de s’effacer devant les choses ».
Autrement dit, ils se soustraient au paradigme de l’imitation, au rapport de
mimesis. La fonction des mots écrits n’est pas celle de décrire la réalité. « Les
mots écrits deviennent mots pour eux-mêmes », ajoute Ricœur. Ils forment
un monde entier, dont on parle souvent quand on emploie des expressions
comme « le monde grec », « le monde romain », etc.
2. La référence nonostensive et la Lebenswelt
Selon Ricœur, le texte suspend la référence de premier degré, car il n’y a pas
de monde réel commun à l’auteur et au lecteur, mais il ouvre de la sorte la
voie vers la référence de deuxième degré. Ricœur ne croit pas que le lecteur
soit tenu de chercher au-delà du texte une soi-disant intention de l’auteur,
qui serait une sorte de « chose en soi » du texte. De toute évidence, tout
auteur projette dans le texte un monde de possibilités. Mais celui-ci n’est pas
identique à l’intention de l’auteur, car le texte, par ses structures, comporte
une autonomie relative par rapport aux intentions d’ordre psychologique.
L’analyse de Ricœur est centrée sur ce que le texte ouvre, et non pas sur ce
qui se trouve à son origine. Et tout texte, notamment le texte fictionnel,
abolit la référence directe, en ouvrant la voie vers une « référence
nonostensive ». Autrement dit, par le biais du texte, « le monde est
manifesté non plus comme ensemble d’objets manipulables, mais comme
horizon de notre vie et de notre projet, bref comme Lebenswelt, comme êtreau-monde » (Ricœur 1986, 52). Donc, la référence du texte n’est plus le
monde ambiant, composé d’objets auxquels on se confronte tous les jours,
mais il s’agit d’un monde de la vie (Lebenswelt), le monde ouvert par nos
31
projections, c’est-à-dire le fait même d’être-au-monde (in der Welt sein)
devant le texte (Ricœur 1986, 24, 28, 46, 114 etc.). En utilisant la
terminologie husserlienne et heideggerienne, Ricœur montre que le texte de
fiction et le texte poétique éloignent le sens du texte des intentions
psychologiques de l’auteur, et, en même temps, éloigne la référence du
texte du monde articulé par le langage quotidien (Ricœur 1986, 52).
L’interprétation est déplacée du problème de la subjectivité vers le problème
du monde, plus précisément du monde du texte. En termes sémiotiques,
Ricœur oriente toute la démarche vers l’axe texte-lecteur, dans un scénario
sémantico-pragmatique. Car ce qui est important, c’est la proposition du
monde que le texte fait, « le monde du texte ». Le lecteur actualise ces
possibilités trouvées dans le texte, mais il le fait en mettant en jeu ses
propres possibles, son monde. L’acte de lecture est donc l’interaction entre
deux séries de possibilités: l’entrecroisement, la collaboration, ou, par
contre, leur collision. Le lecteur adapte son propre monde au monde
proposé par le texte en vertu de son pouvoir-être. Son déplacement du
confort de son propre monde pour aller à la rencontre d’un monde
étranger, celui proposé par le texte, n’est autre chose qu’une série de
variations imaginatives par lesquelles, en partant de ce qu’il sait déjà dans
son monde, s’approche du monde proposé par le texte. L’approchement
n’est toutefois une véritable appropriation que si le lecteur arrive à mettre
entre parenthèses ses propres illusions. En l’occurrence, Ricœur ne fait
pas seulement appel à la réduction phénoménologique, mais aussi aux
herméneutiques du soupçon (Nietzsche, Freud, Marx) et à la critique des
idéologies (Habermas). L’appropriation présuppose une distanciation par
rapport à soi: « lachose du texte ne devient mon propre que si je me
désapproprie de moi-même, pour laisser êtrela chose du texte. Alors
j’échange le moi, maître de lui-même, contre le soi, disciple du texte » (Ricœur
1986, 54). L’appropriation (Zueignung) de lachose du texte par le lecteur est
en fait la réponse du sujet par rapport aux possibilités ouvertes par le texte,
par rapport au monde proposé par celui-ci, plus précisément la réponse
donnée à une double distanciation, par rapport au sens et à la référence du
texte (Ricœur 1986, 54). Ainsi, « interpréter, c’est expliciter la sorte d’êtreau-monde déployé devant le texte » (Ricœur 1986, 114).
En définitive, qu’est-ce que l’interaction entre le texte et le lecteur, telle
qu’elle est envisagée par Ricœur, au carrefour d’une phénoménologie de
l’être humain avec une herméneutique du texte? La réponse est complexe,
car le philosophe français ne sépare pas, de manière abstraite, la vie du texte,
la vérité de l’homme et les méthodes textualistes d’interprétation. Le texte
nous propose un monde que l’on puisse habiter, pour y projeter les
possibles les plus propres (Ricœur 1986, 115). C’est la « chose » qui doit être
interprétée dans un texte, montre Ricœur.
32
George Bondor
3. Les mondes possibles. Eco versus Ricœur, Ricœur versus Eco
Quelle est toutefois la nature des possibles et des mondes possibles? Et
dans quel sens le texte fictionnel est un monde possible ou bien il ouvre la
voie vers un monde possible? En partant de Nicholas Rescher, qui
proposait l’approche des possibles comme des constructions rationnelles,
Umberto Eco montre qu’« un monde possible est une construction
culturelle » (Eco 1985, 167). Un monde narratif emprunte des propriétés au
monde réel, en se superposant à celui-ci dans une large mesure. Mais pour
Umberto Eco, interpréter le texte comme un monde possible en partant de
notre situation hic et nunc, dans notre Lebenswelt (dans notre in-der-Welt-sein)
doit être vu comme une tentation non justifiée de psychologiser l’acte de
lecture. De toute évidence, on vit toujours dans notre monde, reconnaît
Eco, « mais ici il ne s’agit pas de vivre » (Eco 1985, 172). Autrement dit, on
devrait adopter une attitude propositionnelle et avoir en vue la simple
correspondance formelle entre deux constructions (ou structures): le monde
narratif et le monde « réel ». Et dans ce but, montre Umberto Eco, on doit
s’y prendre exactement à l’envers: réduire le monde de référence (le monde
réel) à la dimension des mondes alternatifs. Donc, ce monde, perçu de
manière immédiate, doit être réduit à une construction sémiotique pour
pouvoir le comparer avec les mondes alternatifs (Eco 1985, 172). Sa
construction dépend de l’encyclopédie que nous possédons ou que l’on
choisit. Pour le monde médiéval, par exemple, le monde de la Bible
devrait être « accessible » car l’encyclopédie de celui-ci ne contredit pas
l’encyclopédie biblique (Eco 1985, 174).
Dans un chapitre de Kant et l’ornithorynque, Eco affirme qu’il préfère
prendre le concept de référence dans le sens restreint de désignation, à
savoir l’acte linguistique par lequel on indique des certains individus, des
groupes d’individus, des faits ou des séquences de faits, en temps et lieux
spécifiques (Eco 1999, 285-286). La définition est reprise dans un ouvrage
destiné au problème de la traduction, où Umberto Eco ajoute quelques
précisions importantes: « l’acte linguistique par lequel, le sens des termes
employés étant reconnaissable, on pointe des individus et des situations
d’un monde possible (celui où nous vivons ou bien celui que décrit un
roman) et nous disons que, dans une situation spatio-temporelle donnée, il
arrive qu’il y aitcertaines choses ou certaines situations qui se produisent »
(Eco 2006, 166). La position d’Eco concernant le problème de la référence
est une position sémiotico-pragmatique, en prenant comme point de départ
une idée de Strawson (Eco 1999, 285). Bref, Eco parle de la nature
contractuelle des opérations de référence. L’opération de négociation de la
référence est souvent extrêmement difficile, et les exemples d’Umberto Eco
sont suggestifs en ce sens. Ce n’est qu’après s’être mis d’accord sur le
signifié des termes qu’on peut continuer la négociation sur l’individu (la
33
chose) à laquelle on fait référence. En comparant les textes de fiction avec
les partitions musicales (Eco 1999, 333 sq.), Eco montre que l’on a affaire à
la négociation du monde possible dont on parle, à la seule précision près
que d’habitude on se confronte à plusieurs mondes possibles, fait qui peut
nous empêcher de tomber d’accord. Un monde possible est celui auquel
toutes les encyclopédies reconnaissent plusieurs propriétés, et pas d’autres.
Eco parle de sa propre position comme d’une version ontologique faible,
qui assume le réalisme interne et la négociation de la référence compte tenu
du soi-disant« Esprit de la Communauté » (Eco 1999, 306).
Si l’on envisage de construire une théorie sémiotique du texte, on doit
sans doute s’y prendre selon les consignes d’Umberto Eco: adopter une
attitude purement propositionnelle et exclure de la théorie notre monde (la
référence de deuxième degré, dans les termes de Ricœur, Lebenswelt, selon
Husserl). Selon Eco, on doit dépsychologiser le monde du texte, et
l’objectiver en le prenant en considération seulement en tant que structure
sémiotique. Tout cela parce qu’ici, en théorie, la vie ne nous intéresse pas.
Voilà la raison pour laquelle la philosophie ne s’identifie pas complètement
avec la théorie. Ricœur s’y prend à l’exemple de phénoménologues comme
Husserl et Heidegger, qui décrivaient le monde de la vie et l’être-au-monde
comme des structures ontologiques, et non pas comme des propriétés
d’ordre psychologique, mais sans oublier le moment sémiotique, celui
de la théorie objectivante du texte. En définitive, la Lebenswel t« n’est
pasconfondue avec je ne sais quelle immédiateté ineffable et n’est pas
identifiée à l’enveloppe vitale et émotionnelle de l’expérience humaine, mais
désigne cette réserve de sens, ce surplus de sens de l’expérience vive, qui
rend possible l’attitude objectivante et explicative » (Ricœur 1986, 62).
La réponse de Ricœur est complexe et consiste dans la dialectique de
deux moments qui sont regardés d’habitude comme s’excluant l’un l’autre. Il
ne soutient ni une théorie sémiotique du texte conformément à laquelle le
texte ne serait que la construction d’un langage ni une phénoménologie qui
ne prend pas au sérieux le texte, se contentant de décrire la structure
existentielle de la compréhension. Les deux positions lui apparaissent
comme étant non exclusives, pouvant être articulées dans une dialectique
subtile. Le texte ne peut pas être séparé de la vie et la vie n’est pas étrangère
au monde des textes (et de la tradition à laquelle nous appartenons, on
pourrait ajouter dans un esprit gadamérien). Parler du monde que le texte
propose signifie parler également du langage, des structures narratives. Le
monde et le langage ne sont pas deux entités séparées, qui seraient dans un
simple rapport de représentation. Le langage n’est pas un simple miroir du
monde quotidien, mais le monde est langage. Par cette formule, on ne doit
pas croire qu’il n’y a pas de monde en tant que tel, extérieur à nous. Ni que
le monde réel devrait être réduit à une construction sémiotique, selon la
proposition d’Umberto Eco. Le monde du texte est à la fois l’ensemble des
34
George Bondor
possibles humains et du langage. Les mots et les choses ne se séparent pas.
La fiction et la poésie illustrent parfaitement cette compréhension de la
référence comme « référence nonostensive ». Selon Ricœur, le monde du
texte engendre une distanciation du réel par rapport avec lui-même. Il
produit une rupture à l’intérieur du monde quotidien: « par la fiction, par la
poésie, de nouvelles possibilités d’être-au-monde sont ouvertes dans la
réalité quotidienne; fiction et poésie visentl’être, non plus sous la modalité
de l’être-donné, mais sous la modalité du pouvoir-être » (Ricœur 1986, 115).
L’idée n’est pas seulement exposée dans des termes empruntés au
vocabulaire heideggerien, mais aussi dans des termes husserliens: la
littérature opère sur le réel des variations imaginatives, en métamorphosant
la réalité quotidienne.
Or, le texte qui modifie de manière radicale la réalité entière est la Bible.
Il change le sens de l’histoire et, en même temps, le soi du lecteur. Voilà la
raison pour laquelle l’herméneutique biblique est, pour Ricœur, le modèle
exemplaire de toute conception du texte, mais aussi de l’ontologie. Cette
herméneutique assume la tâche de laisser le texte biblique exposer sa
proposition de monde, celle nommée dans la Bible « le nouveau monde », la
« nouvelle alliance », la « nouvelle naissance », le « règne de Dieu ». Ce
monde projeté est « l’horizon de l’expérience possible où l’œuvre déplace
ses lecteurs » (Ricœur 2001b, 331-332). Le lecteur qui reçoit « le nouveau
monde » de la Bible vit depuis le début un sentiment d’appartenance à
celui-ci. Il se reconnaît comme l’héritier d’une donation de sens originaire,
qui modifie la mémoire, ses attentes et ses espoirs (Ricœur 1993, 32). D’un
côté, le monde biblique n’est pas transmis par des intentions psychologiques
immédiates, mais de manière médiée, par des structures de l’œuvre comme
la narration ou l’oracle (Ricœur 1986, 141-142). De l’autre côté, le monde
ouvert par la Bible forme l’homme le long des siècles, par les signes et les
symboles dont la croyance a été exprimée. Sous ses formes, la croyance
ouvre le possible le plus propre de la liberté humaine, devenant pour
l’homme la parole de Dieu. Ainsi, la croyance est une forme d’appropriation
(Ricœur 1986, 146): le texte biblique est appliqué à la situation du récepteur.
Le moment de l’exégèse, par le biais duquel on découvre le « sens » du texte
biblique, est destiné à provoquer un moment de la décision existentielle
personnelle et de l’actualisation du sens dans la vie proprement dite du
lecteur (Ricœur 1969, 389-390; Lacoque & Ricœur 1998, 15). Dans la
lumière de l’herméneutique biblique, on peut comprendre facilement à
présent le principe herméneutique universellement applicable et qui
synthétise parfaitement « la longue voie de l’ontologie » assumée par Ricœur:
« la tâche de l’herméneutique est d’accompagner l’activité structurante
qui part de l’intérieur de la vie, surgit dans le texte et, grâce à la lecture
privée et à la réception publique, retourne à la vie » (Ricœur 2001a, 143).
35
4. La traduction et le problème de la référence
Umberto Eco assume également la théorie pragmatique dans son approche
du problème de la traduction. Même si en principe le traducteur n’est pas
censé changer les références d’un texte narratif, il y a des cas où cela doit
être fait. Par exemple, lorsque la référence ne peut pas être respectée si l’on
veut rendre l’intention stylistique du texte. Il y a également des cas où l’on
doit changer la référence pour garder le sens profond du texte. Ces actes
d’« infidélité » du traducteur surviennent en vertu du fait que celui-ci est
forcé d’interpréter le texte pour pouvoir le traduire. Par exemple, il doit
interpréter l’ensemble du texte pour voir comment se conduisent les
personnages. Et interpréter, le montre Umberto Eco, signifie faire un pari
sur le sens d’un texte, un sens qui découle d’une série d’inférences où le
traducteur est assisté par une culture entière, comme le joueur de roulette
est assisté par une théorie des probabilités (Eco 2006, 180-181).
La comparaison d’Eco peut être trompeuse, car les deux situations ne se
ressemblent pas du tout. La théorie des probabilités est à la disposition du
joueur à roulette, l’aidant à réaliser ses calculs probabilistes. Elle a toutefois,
un caractère purement instrumental. Par contre, le traducteur est assisté par
une culture antérieure (ou même deux cultures) d’une manière vivante, que
l’on ne pourrait réduire à une encyclopédie assimilée par une instruction.
Elle n’est pas, toutefois, seulement un monde possible entre autres, comme
les mondes fictionnels, mais le background de tous les mondes possibles que
l’interprète / le traducteur peuvent formuler. Elle est l’héritage qui pénètre
dans chacun de nous et peut être assumé, un processus qui est décrit de
manière excellente par Heidegger, et par la suite par Gadamer. Si on
considère cette culture antérieure comme un simple instrument construit
pour la réussite de la théorie, soit on tombe dans la malencontreuse
dichotomie sujet-objet, soit on est contraints de construire un monde
possible pour le sujet lui-même, pour celui qui dit « je ».
Eco n’hésite pas à embrasser jusqu’au bout cette dernière perspective,
mais ce fait ne rend pas moins nécessaire l’appel à une description
phénoménologique des couches de sens mises au travail dans
l’interprétation et la traduction des textes, ces couches qui sont actives dans
la relation avec l’autre. En ce sens, une certaine suggestion faite par Paul
Ricœur me semble être décisive. La traduction – ce transfert de sens entre
deux totalités linguistiques – peut être finalisée par analogie avec les
confessions de foi, qui sont elles-mêmes des idiomes, des totalités
linguistiques ou des « paquets de sens », comme le dit Ricœur de manière
plastique dans « Du Concile de Trente au Colloque de Trente ». Ce ne sont
pas des systèmes de propositions pris l’un après l’autre, mais des ensembles
organiques, qui peuvent être assumés comme des totalités. C’est pourquoi,
le montre Ricœur, la traduction doit partir du haut vers le bas, de la culture
36
George Bondor
entière, assumée par le traducteur, vers le texte, la phrase et le mot (Ricœur
2004, 56). C’est toujours pour cette raison que le phénomène de la
traduction ne peut pas être compris comme une simple activité de type
technique, mais il comporte une dimension ontologique, car tout acte de
notre vie, dans la mesure où il présuppose une relation avec les choses, avec
les autresou avec nous-mêmes, une relation où la compréhension est mise
en jeu, peut être regardée comme un acte de traduction. La raison est que
tout rapport que nous avons avec le monde implique une distanciation
objectivante et une médiation entre nous et le monde en soi. Or, là où il y a
médiation, l’opération de la traduction est présente.
Références
Eco, Umberto. 1985. Lector in fabula – Le rôle du lecteur ou la coopération interprétative dans les
textes narratifs, traduction par Myriam Bouzaher. Paris: Grasset.
Eco, Umberto. 1999. Kant et l’ornithorynque, traduit par Julien Gayrard. Paris: Grasset.
Eco, Umberto. 2006. Dire presque la même chose. Expériences de traduction, traduit par Myriem
Bouzaher. Paris: Bernard Grasset.
Heidegger, Martin. 1972. Sein und Zeit, 12. Auflage. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer.
Iser, Wolfgang. 1994. Der Akt des Lesens. Theorie ästhetischer Wirkung, 4. Auflage. München:
Wilhelm Fink Verlag.
Lacoque, André et Paul Ricœur. 1998. Penser la Bible. Paris: Seuil.
Ricœur, Paul. 1969. Le conflit des interprétations. Essais d’herméneutique. Paris: Éditions du Seuil.
Ricœur, Paul. 1986. Du texte à l’action. Essais d’herméneutique II. Paris: Éditions du Seuil.
Ricœur, Paul. 1993. « Herméneutique. Les finalités de l’exégèse biblique ». In La Bible en
philosophie. Approches contemporaines, éd. par Dominique Bourg et Antoine
Lion. Paris: Cerf.
Ricœur, Paul. 2001a. « Le texte comme identité dynamique ». In L’herméneutique biblique,
Présentation et traduction par François-Xavier Amherdt. Paris: Cerf.
Ricœur, Paul. 2001b. « Vers une théologie narrative: sa nécessité, ses ressources, ses
difficultés ». In L’herméneutique biblique, Présentation et traduction par FrançoisXavier Amherdt. Paris: Cerf.
Ricœur, Paul. 2004. Sur la traduction. Paris: Bayard.
37
Translating Aristotelian Political Morphology into Medieval Latin: ...
Andrei BERESCHI *
Translating Aristotelian Political Morphology
into Medieval Latin: The Cases of Albert the Great,
Thomas Aquinas and Dante Alighieri
Abstract: In the 13th century the Aristotelian political science started to become
known to the Latin Middle Ages. Translations and commentaries made the effort
of understanding and receiving in Latin language the rigorous Aristotelian science
of politics. Among other things there was the classifications of the governmental
forms that put the interprets in great difficulty. The aim of the following paper is
to illustrate this struggle of the commentators in the course of their reception of
the Aristotelian political morphology. The main issue adressed here in the cases of
Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, and Dante Alighieri is the idea that their
difficulties lay in a model (which is called “the henological constant” in the present
paper) that predetermined their approach to Aristotle’s theory of constitutions.
Keywords: Political Morphology, Aristotle, latin commentaries, Albert the Great,
Thomas Aquinas, Dante Alighieri, henology
1. Aristotelian Politics in Mediaeval Context
The discovery of the theory of political morphology in the Latin Middle
Ages (i.e. of the theory regarding the plurality and the classification of
political regimes) was essentially made once with the translation of Aristotle’s
Politics into Latin around the year 1260 by Guillaume de Moerbeke (Fortin
1996, 177 calls it “the Aristotelian revolution”). Consequently, not just
commentaries on this long forgotten political work started to appear, but
also different versions of reception and understanding of the political
categories employed in Greek by Aristotle. It is not less true that the
reception in a short form of the ancient theory of political forms has been
already done in the Middle Ages before the translation and commentaries of
Aristotle’s Politics by means of a passage from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics
(VIII, 10, 1160 a31-b22) that exhibits a short classification of the political
regimes. Therefore due to this passage Aristotelian political science appeared
in the Latin Middle Ages a few decades earlier than the discovery of
Aristotle’s Politics (Molnár 1998).
*
38
Andrei Bereschi
The Nicomachean Ethics was translated starting with the second half of the
twelfth century, but its most wide-spread version was the one accomplished
in 1246 by Robert Grosseteste, which has eventually become the canonical
translation of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Thus, the gap between the
reception of the Politics and the reception of the Nicomachean Ethics is of
twenty years, provided we accept that the first commentary to Aristotle’s
Politics was written by Albert the Great just after 1264. But this antecedence
is not neutral from a theoretical perspective, because the reception of
Aristotle’s political morphology and the revitalization of the discussions on
the identity, plurality, structure and the criteria for distinguishing political
regimes will all be affected by the simplified and concise system exposed by
the theory of political regimes found in the Nicomachean Ethics.
However, due to this historical antecedence, the system of political
morphology developed almost on the entirety of the Politics was read with a
harmonizing tendency towards the passage from the Nicomachean Ethics, the
commentaries referring to the system of political forms or regimes from the
Nicomachean Ethics as to the most known and clear place where a theory of
this kind appears in Aristotle. Then, because of the same antecedence, a
decision has been taken regarding the language expressing political concepts
at a time when, along with translations and commentaries, the Latin political
language had to integrate a system of political concepts that in Greek
language was coming from an astonishing philosophical tradition with an
extraordinary force of cohesion.
However, the reception of this political language is not an absolute
novelty in Latin. In the first century B.C.E., Cicero already undertook in his
dialogue De re publica (aprox. 50 B.C.E.) the attempt of taking over into
Latin the political morphologies developed in Greek philosophy – mainly
those advanced by Plato, Aristotle and Polybius (2nd Century B.C.E.). His
effort could not have been, however, decisive for the takeover of the system
of political morphology into the Latin thought. It is admitted that Cicero’s
treatise was unknown in the Middle Ages, and some parts of the six books
of the De re publica are still lost today. Nevertheless, it is also known that the
manuscript was retrieved from a palimpsest and, therefore, it is possible that
parts or fragments to have circulated as sources in the Middle Ages.
Surely, the last part of Cicero’s dialogue was one of the main sources for
the medieval political thought. This part, titled Somnium Scipionis, survived by
its transmission in the Commentary of Macrobius (In somnium scipionis – the
fifth century CE.), a work of interest not just from an astronomical or
cosmological perspective, but also politically, because Cicero in this dream of
Scipio – in a way a pastiche of the Myth of Er from the end of Plato’s
Republic – talked about a reward that awaits the political leader after death
(gloria, beatitudo) and, finally, about the eschatological meaning of the human
political organization. Whether other passages survived so that they would
39
have oriented at least the late reception of Aristotle’s morphological system,
this could be indicated only by a textual analysis of the language employed
in the commentaries and, eventually, by the way of retracing references to
the De re publica. However, to accomplish this, it is first necessary to account
for the political morphology in the way it has been adapted to the Latin
language through the first political works of the Middle Ages written by
Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas and Dante Alighieri.
2. Albert the Great and the Reception of the Political Morphology
from Nicomachean Ethics (VIII, 10)
Robert Grosseteste’s translation (Aristoteles Latinus 1973) provided Albert
the Great with a text which, following its correction by an unknown author
and besides the morphological arrangement of the species of political
regimes, fundamentally established Albert’s terminology. First of all, we are
talking about a solution for the Greek concepts of constitution (politeia) and
community (koinonia). The second concept was translated by communicatio.
With regard to the first, R. Grosseteste’s translation (in its corrected
versions, i.e. recensio recognita) uses for politeia the phrase politice species, but also
urbanitas which is an etymological solution trying to accomplish in Latin the
relation of etymological derivation existing in Greek between polis and
politeia: polis being translated by urbs (civitas), it follows that politeia has to be
translated by urbanitas. In his commentary on Ethics, Albert the Great uses
urbanitas whenever he refers to the political regimes, but sometimes he also
engages politica urbanitas or an entirely surprising word, namely politexa,
which is an interpretative clarification of politeia via Greek language,
adjoining polis (city-state) with taxis (order) and obtaining thus, in a single
word, the concept of political order, which he equates explicitly with urbanitas
and with politicae species. Another variant for naming the political regimes is
genera politiarum, where politia represents a calque from the Greek politeia. It is
remarkable that Albert the Great uses politia only a few times before his
commentary on the Politics, where it would become his favorite form and he
never uses it with the synonymy established by Aristotle in the Nicomachean
Ethics between timocracy and politeia. These terminological vacillations can
constitute a probable evidence for the novelty this ancient political theory
represented for an intellectual such as Albert the Great, an ancient political
theory brought to him by the texts of Aristotle with their bewildering
conceptual coherence that forced the Latin language to translate it and to
give birth to political concepts never met before.
The passage from the Nicomachean Ethics succinctly bases the division of
the political regimes on the numeric criterion of those in power (one – few –
many) and on a value criterion (good – bad) dividing the regimes according
to the direction of rule: in the interest of the ruled or, because of
40
Andrei Bereschi
corruption, in the interest of the rulers. This is how Aristotle’s morphology
looks like in a comprehensive table according to the original text:
Numeric criterion
One (monarchy)
Few
Many
Good
Authentic Forms
Basileia (Royalty)
Aristocracy
Timocracy or Politeia
Bad
Corrupted Forms
Tyranny
Oligarchy
Democracy
In this manner, Aristotle conveys a political morphology with six forms (but
with seven names for them, because timocracy is also called by the generic
name of politeia). Another difficulty consists of the fact that, for Aristotle,
monarchy, taken as the rule of one (monos-arche), is at the same time a
categorial concept containing both regality and tyranny and it appears also
sometimes as a species of constitution, namely the good one, in so far as it
is synonymous to regality and opposed to tyranny.
A first oversight on the reception of Aristotle’s position can be found in
Albert the Great’s commentary on Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, in
Super Dionysium De caelesti hierarchia, where we can find (maybe the first) a
reference to the political morphology of the Nicomachean Ethics:
“Item, sicut dicit Philosophus in Ethicis, res publica tribus modis regitur:
regno, ubi unus praeficitur in plena potestate, et hoc regnum corrumpitur
tyrannide; regitur etiam quandoque aristocratia, quando plures ad regnum
eliguntur propter virtutem ipsorum, sicut fuit olim in Romana re publica, et hoc
regnum corrumpitur democratia, quando rectores dant se vitiis; tertium
regnum est timocratia, quando plebeii propter divitias praeficiuntur, quod est
vilissimum genus regiminis. Cum autem in hoc ordine non sit unus, sed plures
regentes propter meritum virtutis, videtur regnum eorum potius esse aristocratia
quam regnum, et ita non debuit removeri ab eis, quae corrumpit regnum, sed
democratia.” (Albertus Magnus, 1993, 32-45, Pars I, cap. 8, Circa tertium)
In what follows Albert refutes the possibility that the angelical hierarchy
could be organized as an aristocracy based on merit, maintaining the
position that it is more likely a functional order (of officials, as are the
consuls and senators) within a divine royalty to which it participates as to a
dominium. From a linguistic point of view, we can observe the occurrence of
the “Ciceronian” solution to translate politeia (constitution in general) by res
publica as well as a possibly “Ciceronian” specification regarding the
illustration of the aristocracy by using the example of the Roman Republic
(constitution), an example which is not, in any case, to be related to
Aristotle. Further one can notice the usage of the term regimen for politeia
and, in the same way, of the term regnum, which on the one is the Latin
41
equivalent to royalty, i.e. basileia, and, on the other hand, it is the equivalent,
again, of the Greek concept of politeia, meaning regime or government.
However, what we are rather interested in here is the defective reception
of Aristotle’s morphology from the Nicomachean Ethics. It is possible that
Albert the Great had an unclear translation available and he gave this
translation an understanding in conformity with the knowledge he had
about political regimes from before his acquaintance with the Ethics. This
argument can be sustained by the fact that R. Grosseteste’s revised
translation contains an error (and the error belongs to the person who made
the correction, a correction which could have been itself made in
conformity with what the reviewer knew from another source). In this Latin
translation, after the enumeration of the positive species (regnum, aristocratia,
timocratia seu politica), the following affirmation appears: “harum autem optima
quidem regnum, pessima autem democratia – of these, regality is indeed the
best, while the worst is democracy.” (Aristoteles Latinus 1973, 533)
There was, thus, a linguistic glide between timocracy and democracy and,
in our hypothesis, this was not noticed as erroneous because a coherence
was produced with what was already known, eventually from a Ciceronian
source, namely that the three good regimes are monarchy, aristocracy and
democracy and that the worst among them is democracy. But neither
according to the Ciceronian morphology nor according to Aristotle’s is
democracy the worst possible form. Likewise, the corruption of aristocracy
into democracy does not belong to Aristotle’s morphological system
because, at least in the Nicomachean Ethics, the positive counterpart of
democracy is timocracy or politeia: only in Albert’s reading, with the
linguistic glide mentioned above, becomes democracy the most corrupt
form in which a positive constitution can exist (regnum).
In his first commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, i.e. Super Ethica.
Commentum et questiones (Albertus Magnus 1987), Albert the Great designates
the political forms by species politicarum, but also calls them urbanitates as well
as civilitates or species regiminis. At this point he knows better Aristotle’s text
and he re-corrects “the correction” that caused the linguistic glide between
timocracy and democracy.
Albert the Great gives in this intervention a first global interpretation of
the political morphology presented in the Nicomachean Ethics. First of all,
Albert questions the logical status of the division that differentiates political
forms as a sort of species. His conclusion would be that in so far as they do
not refer equally to a genus which is divided by them, the political forms are
not really species. In the end, Albert also attenuates the notion of political
species, referring more likely to moods and presenting explicitly Aristotle’s
position in the sense in which he “ponit modos, quibus tota res publica
administrari potest” (he sets moods in which the entire political community
can be administered). Thus, Albert’s answer is that divisio non est univoci, sed
42
Andrei Bereschi
analogi (Albertus Magnus 1987, Liber VIII, Lectio X). The analogical
division, then, would be the basis of the division of political forms into
species: this means that the first figure of political organization is that one
which, in fact, embodies the plenitude of political government (urbanitas
ratio), while the others would be situated in a succession of descending
value, without being species of a common genus, but figures which are
removing themselves from this prime plenitude.
Therefore, royalty is considered by Albert as being this plenary sense of
the constitution, while the other two forms are still legitimate, but with a
weaker quality of being species. The motive invoked by Albert is that “quia
multi non ita concordant sicut unus ad seipsum”, i.e. many cannot reach an
agreement among themselves in the same way one can reach an agreement
with himself. Concordia, a figure of agreement and of being one, is, thus, the
value which differentiates the advantage of monarchy in front of the other
two positive forms. This time, Albert reads Aristotle’s Ethics correctly,
proceeding with the positions of aristocracy and timocracy. While
aristocracy is understood correctly by Albert via its etymology (aris-cratos),
which in Latin becomes virtus-potestas, again timocracy presents him
difficulties. In its etymology, timus is translated by Albert with divitiae
(wealth) potestas (cratos). This way timocracy becomes the regime of the rich,
with an interpretation which makes timocracy to linguistically glide again,
this time towards oligarchy. In his short reference, Aristotle explained
timocracy as being the equality of the many that possess a census, namely a
government of those who have an income. But from here all the way to the
power of wealth, which, actually, characterizes oligarchy, there is a great
distance all the more because timocracy, in the way defined by Plato in his
Republic, designated the power of honor accompanied by equalitarian warlike
values.
The relation between oligarchy and timocracy is understood by Albert as
the relationship between the rule of the few and wealthy (oligarchy) and the
rule of the many and wealthy (timocracy). But this interpretation represents
an intuitive comprehension of a relation that was already explicitly stated by
Aristotle in his Politics in the form of an aporia between democracy and
oligarchy, where the numeric criterion has to be doubled by the criterion of
wealth, so that the ones that rule on the basis of their wealth, despite of
being few or many, will always constitute an oligarchy, and the poor, few or
many, when in power, will always constitute a democracy (Politics, III, 8,
1280a). Albert’s confusion certifies eventually that Aristotle’s Politics
was not yet available to him and that the Latin reception of Aristotle
encountered a major difficulty when it came to understand timocracy as a
political species.
The comparison of political forms and the relation between the good
and the bad forms are subjects to a separate analysis in Albert’s commentary.
43
However, once again the Aristotelian relations are slightly disturbed by a
surprising interpretation. For Albert the Great tyranny does not represent
the worst form of government, as it actually appears understood throughout
the Platonic theoretical tradition (of which Aristotle is part). Here Albert
breaks from Aristotle affirming that (Albertus Magnus 1987, Liber VIII,
Lectio X):
“(…) democratia est simpliciter peius quam tyrannis, quia in tyrannide saltem
manet ordo ad unum superiorem et manet ordo potestatis, quamvis ille
abutatur. Sed in democratia nihil manet, quia totus ordo civilitatis confunditur,
quia plebs non est subdita et sic plebs non-plebs efficitur et ideo etiam magis
nocet communitati, quamvis minus noceat alicui privato; sed secundum quid
tyrannis est peior, secundum quod est oppositum maiori bono.”
In his assumption there is a legitimacy of power constituted as an irradiance
of the one and this order of the one seems to Albert sufficient to affirm that
democracy and not tyranny is per se the worst political form, although
Aristotle’s text, even in Latin, says explicitly: minimum autem malum est
democratia. Albert’s difficulty consists in conceiving, in the way Plato did it in
the Republic, that a single individual could become intrinsically much plural
than a multitude. The difficulty lays in the representational assumption that
an individual due to the fact that is perceived as being one per se appears
more like one than a multitude so that he couldn’t be envisaged as a
multiplicity bigger than that of a rampant crowd. Here it can be observed
how a Platonic ideal of valuing a substantial understanding of the one and a
predetermined adhesion to the ultimate valuation of monarchy leaves their
mark on the interpretation of tyranny itself in the shadow of unity and of a
“monarchical” valuation. Tehrefore, in Albert’s interpretation the tyrant
may be indeed a corrupt king, but he is still as one king.
In the last intervention Albert the Great had on the morphological
system from the Nicomachean Ethics, i.e. his later commentary on the
Nicomachean Ethics (Albertus Magnus 1891, vol. VI, Ethica), his ideas exposed
in Super Ethica change in the sense of a greater conformity to the
Aristotelian text. From the perspective of the language used to designate the
different species of constitutions, Albert resumes the usage of the terms
urbanitas, regimen, but we also find gubernatio civium or the already known
calque politexa (on the basis of polis and taxis). Only in this commentary
Albert properly records all the denominations of the political forms that
appear in the passage from Aristotle’s Ehics. Thus, only three politexae species,
i.e. species of political order, are taken here to be fit for a urbanitas perfecta,
which means a proper constitution. Nevertheless, Albert considers that only
two, namely regnum and aristocracy are simpliciter species of urbanitas defined as
“righteous power in respect to the regime of justice”. Here Albert
44
Andrei Bereschi
distinguishes between a part of urbanitas which is concerned with the
essential goods that serve happiness and another part that deals with the
external goods regarding the exercitation of power in order to provide the
best government of the citizens. According to this, as a third form following
monarchy and aristocracy, timocracy is defined in the next terms:
“Tertia autem quae a facultate pretiorum est et exteriorum bonorum, secundum
aliquid species urbanitatis est, quam conveniens est dicere timocratiam. Hanc
enim quamvis non sit urbanitas secundum ea quae essentialia sunt felicitati,
tamen quia est in his sine quibus cives ad felicitatem non reguntur, plures
consueverunt eam apelare politexam sive urbanitatem.”
As described, timocracy seems to be a constitution relative only to the outer
good, and because the outer good was largely perceived as the wellbeing of
the citizens in a state conditioning the minimal conservation of the state it
received the generic name of constitution, even though it was also named
timocracy. Therefore, Albert finally gets the Aristotelian equivalence of
timocracy with politeia.
Now, if regnum is the best regime which consists of “the ordering of all
in relation to one in conformity with the most perfect rule of justice”,
timocracy remains to be the bad one, but, as Albert continues, a bad form
only in as much as it has the least content of reason of goodness and unity
from all the other positive constitutions. Timocracy is, finally, correctly
understood by Albert in the Aristotelian morphological system as being
“the rule of those who govern over valuable things, as are those who rule
over the finances, the army’s food or the production of weapons”, and
“those who rule in timocracies by honor are all equals and desire to be
equals”.
Thus the clarification of the relation between timocracy and democracy
leads to a proper arrangement of the relations between the species of
constitutions and their transgressions; between a positive form and its
corresponding negative form. In addition, Albert also grasps the fact that
tyranny and royalty are actually forms of monarchy (the rule of one), but that
tyranny corruptio est monarchiae, and being thus improperly called monarchy.
On account of that, he does not repeat the error of understanding tyranny,
as he did in Super Ethica, as a form of ordinatio ad unum, but he accepts now
that tyranny by perverting the act of regality, ideo pessima est, quod satis congruit
(is the worst, as it is sufficiently proved). On the other hand, democracy is
now correctly understood (in contrast with the confusion from the previous
commentary) as minimum malum inter transgressiones, namely as the least evil
between the corrupt forms. Also aristocracy is rightly put in the relation
with its negative counterpart, namely oligarchy. In this commentary, the
arduous road of Albert the Great towards understanding the morphological
45
system from Aristotle’s Ethics finds its end; its difficulties appeared partly on
account of another source of structuring the political forms which by the
examples that illustrate the romana republica, are probably to be found in the
vicinity of Cicero’s morphology, but essentially his struggle was provoked
by what may be defined as “the henological constant” that consisted in the
largely accepted assumption that what holds a substantial unity is always
better than a unity in multiplicity, i.e. that the good derives from the one.
Therefore, in Albert’s case the reception of Aristotle’s political morphology
was made according to a (neo)platonic source which imposed “the
henological constant” in its Latin expression as the reductio ad unum. The
arguments in favor of monarchy had their foundation in this law that
equates the one with the good.
3. Thomas Aquinas’ Reception of the Aristotelian Political
Morphology in De regno ad regem Cypri
In his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, Thomas Aquinas makes
extended references to the Politics in such a manner that the commentary of
the 8th book of the Nicomachean Ethics is made in close connection to the
ideas from Politics. At linguistic level, Thomas Aquinas refers to the species
of constitutions using as terms species politicae communicationis or civilitates.
However, the exposition follows without much deviation the letter of
Aristotle’s text which he only summarizes. Instead, the exposition from the
treatise De regno ad regem Cypri does not restrain itself to the same neutrality.
Thomas Aquinas was already familiar with the monarchist position of
Albert the Great. The reception of the Aristotelian Ethics made by the latter
constituted for Thomas Aquinas the point of departure in his own
argumentation regarding the political regimes. Written between 1271 and
1275, his treatise De regno (Thomas de Aquino, 1979, Tomus XLIII) is
conceived right after the assimilation of Aristotle’s Politics, reentered into the
medieval intellectual circuit by the translation from about 1260 made by
Guillaume de Moerbeke. However, surprisingly, Thomas Aquinas leaves
aside the complexity of the morphological system from the Politics and
literally repeats the exposition from the Nicomachean Ethics.
He follows, thus, Albert the Great in arguing that monarchy is the best
regime, but Thomas’ argumentation is marked by his insistence in stressing
that tyranny is the worst possible regime – this being a probable reply to
Albert’s stumbled argument that a tyrant would still be a king. Thomas had
also taken over the Platonic structure of “the henological constant” through
Albert’s reductio ad unum, but he eventually gave it a more subtle linguistic
formula as he modified it into an appropinquatio ad unum, probably in virtue
of the fact that he was already aware of the criticism made by Aristotle in
the Politics on the reduction of the state to one individual in the case of
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Andrei Bereschi
Plato’s ideal constitution and probably due to his deeper understanting of
the fact that unity should not be understood reductively (as something to
which the city-state should reduce itself), but approximately (as something
that should always be approximated by the city-state).
In the first book, Thomas acknowledges the morphology of the Ethics by
adding several corrections to Albert’s perspective. First of all, he begins by
enumerating the corrupt forms, which are kinds of regimen iniustum: tyranny,
oligarchy and democracy. The positive forms are kinds of a regimen iustum:
politia, aristocracy and royalty (regnum). But Thomas doesn’t mention the
notion of timocracy anymore naming instead with new word its synonymous
form, namely politia, which in Albert was called politexa or urbanitas. At the
same time, the source regarding the roman republic appears more evident in
De regno; the origin of the “Ciceronian” intrusion seems to be Augustine
with his De civitate dei and some fragments from Cicero (or Sallust), that can
be identified, at least in the case of Thomas, in the last part of De re publica,
more precisely in Macrobius’ In somnium Scipionis. In the table below, it can
be seen how the Aristotelian political morphology appears in Thomas
Aquinas’ De regno:
The number of rulers
Per unum
Per plures
Per multos
Regimen iustum
Bonum commune
Monarchia
Aristocratia
Politia
Regimen iniustum
Bonum privatum
Tyrannis
Oligarchia
Democratia
The henological constant or the ordering law of appropinquatio ad unum, a
formula not only political but also representing an universal principle,
cosmic and ontological, is put at work in structuring the social domain as a
natural principle: natura operatur quod optimum est (nature does what it’s best)
and omne naturale regimen ad uno est (every natural regime is according to
one). For Thomas Aquinas the finality of politics in the field of human
government is that of bringing salus (salvation and security), a concept
which takes its essential meaning from the unity of peace (unitas pacis), meeting
thus unitas as the supreme value of governing. By setting the scene in this
way, Thomas gains confidence in exploiting the Aristotelian political
concepts within a Christian context, concepts which are now clearer to him
than they were to Albert at the beginning of the reception of Aristotle’s
political thinking.
Thus Thomas prepares here the demonstration on monarchy as the best
regime but without the kind of reasoning that takes the king to be one per se –
an issue which, as we have seen, forced Albert in the Super Ethica to argue
that tyranny is not the worst, because the tyrant is still one per se. Instead of
this Thomas argued that only when ruled by a king does the political
47
community achieve the appropinquatio ad unum and its unitas pacis that count
as the authentic finality of the politics. Consequently, because the tyrant
does not pursue the common good, he also cannot fulfill the role of keeping
the unity of peace, and thus he does not represent a figure of unity, but
rather one of arbitrariness consisting in the accidental multiplicity of his
abusive desires.
With all this apparent reply to Albert the Great, Thomas is not
consistent throughout his work. For instance, in the fifth chapter of De
regno, he argues in a perfect Albertist fashion (from the Super Ethica) that “a
lesser evil is produced when monarchy turns into tyranny than when the
plural regime of the optimates is corrupted” (minus malum est cum monarchiam
in turannidem convertitur quam cum regimen plurimum optimatum corrumpitur).
Thomas’argument suggests that the transition from royalty to tyranny is less
bad than the transition from aristocracy to oligarchy and consequently
that oligarchy would be worse than tyranny. The conclusion is a kind of
“albertism” to the extent that Albert himself considered democracy to be
worse than tyranny. Thomas’argument is obviously of a different sort of
inconsequence, but still in the manner of the latter:
“Dissensio enim quae plerumque sequitur ex regimine plurium contrariatur
bono pacis quod est praecipuum in multitudine sociali; quod quidem bonum
tyrannidem non tollitur, sed aliqua particularium hominum bona impediuntur,
nisi fuerit excessus tyrannidis quod in totam communitatem desaeviat. Magis
igitur praeoptandum est unius regimen quam multorum.”
As Thomas plainly argues: the corrupt form of the optimates’regime
(oligarchy) is worse than the corrupt form of royalty whenever the tyranny
that results from royalty is not exactly tyrannical! The argument is meant for
keeping the structure of the argumentation in favor of monarchy by using
the simple numerical multiplicity as a sign of deficiency in ruling and as
distancing from the appropinquatio ad unum. We no longer have to emphasize
that the way in which Thomas had just defined this political rule according
to the unity of peace made such a reasoning structure devoid of any sense.
Along with grasping the persistence of a henological model that was grafted
on the reception of Aristotle’s morphology, one could also read here a bit
of a reverence towards Albert the Great.
4. The Monarchia of Dante Alighieri
At the beginning of the fourteenth century this morphological structure
brought by Aristotle’s reception appears to have been finally well
established and clearly understood. One of the most important political
works of the period where Aristotle’s political view is not simply
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Andrei Bereschi
commented but philosophically used is Dante’s De monarchia. In this work
Dante proves himself as someone who navigates at ease through Aristotle’s
political theory with an astonishing precision and with full consciousness of
Aristotle’s limits. The novelty of De monarchia consists in using Aristotle’s
political concepts for a new visionary theory which concerns the political
purpose of humanity as a whole. Passing through the series of purposes
produced by nature which always inscribes the particular purpose into a
different purpose when it comes to integrate the prior term into a larger
structure, Dante arrives at the question of a final and universal integration
of all purposes for which humanity is brought together in various kinds of
associations. The series of human associations is taken by Dante from
Aristotle’s Politics but it is enlarged first by the concept of regnum (as a
concept for the social extension of a kingdom the word appears already in
Thomas Aquinas’ De regno along with the roman concept of provincia) and
secondly by what he calls the ultimate kind of political community, namely
the monarchia temporalis. According to this logic of inclusion, a concept of
social extension is inscribed into the more extended next one by shifting its
own purpose; for instance, individuals change their finality as individuals
when they associate into a household, a household (domestica communitas)
when takes part into a larger community (vicinia), a larger community when
is a part of a city (Aristotle’s last concept of social extension is polis (civitas),
which he considers to be the final and the perfect community), a city when
is a part of a kingdom (regnum) and, at last, a kingdom when, by Dante’s
theory, is a part of the purpose of the final community designed by nature
(that is by God’s art D.M. I, 3, 2) for all mankind. This ultimate kingdom
takes the name of monarchia temporalis or imperium. By adding the two
concepts of social extension to the classical Aristotelian series which ends
with polis (civitas), Dante brings a fundamental shift in the known system of
political morphology and also in the argument concerning the best regime.
While in Aristotle the discussion on the formation of the political
community is fairly independent of the question of governing the political
body of citizens as long as the political regimes (which are compared with
souls) apply to a political body existing by nature, in Dante’s account the
supreme meaning of monarchy is originating in universitas humana’s nature
and definition so that the political developement of human kind remains
unfulfilled until monarchia temporalis will not rule over all the other forms of
government. Not only that civitas is not the perfect end of human political
community, but not even regnum as a kingdom composed by different cities
would not suffice to cover the extension of the human sense of politics.
This expansion of the politics at the universal scale of whole mankind
forces a reinterpretation of Aristotle’s political morphology which is done in
a paragraph of the first book of De monarchia (Cassel 2004, 123-124, De
monarchia I, 12, 9):
49
“Only under the rule of the monarch does humankind exist for itself and not
for the sake of something else, for only then are perverted forms of political
order-such as democracies, oligarchies, and tyrannies, which force mankind into
slavery-rectified, as is clear to anyone who checks through them all-and only
then do kings, aristocrats (who are named ʽbestʼ), and those with zeal for the
people’s liberty set the policy. For, since the monarch loves the people in the
greatest degree, as we have already shown, he wills all men to be good-an
impossibility among those who play at crooked politics.”
These lines take into account Aristotle’s morphology from the Politics
refering to the distinction between perverted forms of government (politiae
obliquae) and just forms of government (politiae rectae). The fact that Dante
refers to the bad regimes using the plural instead of singular (”democratie
scilicet oligarchie atque tyrampnides”) indicates that Dante understood that in
Politics (unlike the table from Nicomachean Ethics) Aristotle had developed a
classification of political forms where each form is a kind under which there
are some more determinate species of the same political form. Therefore,
Dante preserves Aristotle’s political morphology but enriches it with his
concept of monarchy (or imperium) as a form that governs all these regimes
which rule smaller social extensions within the human kind. The imperial
monarch is said to be a kind of universal guardian of good who sets right
the perverted forms of government and who makes possible only the rule
of the righteous regimes (Dante is using the verb politizare invented for
translation purposes by William of Moerbecke and also used by Thomas
Aquinas.). The image of Dante’s morphological table can be therefore
represented as follows:
Monarchia temporalis universitatis humanae seu totius humanae civilitatis
Politiae regnorum et civitatum et nationum
Rectae
Obliquae
Reges (kingdoms)
Democratiae
Aristocratici seu optimates (aristocracies)
Oligarchiae
Zelatores populi libertatis (timocracies or polities) Tyrampnides
The relation between the imperial monarch and all the other smaller units of
governance is said to be analogous to that between a universal cause and the
lower causes which are causes only by virtue of the more universal cause
(Dante quotes in support of the idea from Liber de causis). Therefore, the
monarch is not meant to take decisions that concern the politic life at the
level of the righteous regimes unless a war bursts among them or one of
them tends towards a bad political form; otherwise the almighty ruler
intervenes only in matters of interest for all human kind (quae omnibus
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Andrei Bereschi
competunt). It seems that Dante distinguishes two kinds of politics: one local,
organizing policies according to various conditions of their habit and one
that exercise the politics of universal unity and one universal, regulating the
legitimacy of the lower regimes and their relationship.
5. Conclusion
As it has been already noticed by his critics, the key point of Dante’s
argumentation depends on the acceptance of the analogy of the human
genre with a body which once conceded turns itself into an allegory of
the political body of humanity including individuals and smaller social
extensions (kingdoms, city-states of various political regimes) as its organic
parts. The corporal allegory eventually entitles the neccessity of a unity for
the body politic and a unity as such can only be established through the rule
of one supreme monarch who embodies once more what we have identified
so far as “the henological constant”.
Therefore, humanity’s whole body is in the monarch’s care and
reciprocally the “other” body of the monarch is nothing else than this
corporeal humanity. The importance of this idea was sufficiently stressed by
Ernst Kantorowicz in his renowned work on The King’s Two Bodies but
the birth of the corporal allegory as an argumentational model and its
theoretical background are far from being historically explicit. This allegory
was a common place in the medieval tradition and its roots can be traced
back, as we have shown in the cases of Albert the Great and Thomas
Aquinas, to some (neo)platonic sources that surrely prove to be much older
than Aristotle’s images of an universal Prime Mover or that of soul as
functional unity for the entire body.
But once Aristotle’s theorical political morphology became largely
known this trope (or the henological constant) was enhanced with the
authority of the new found political science and consequently was preserved
and continued being widely used by theorists in their political arguments in
favor of monarchy (for instance, it appears near a century later in Jean
Gerson’s sermons – Sălăvăstru 2016, 105) and also in their interventions on
the papacy debate. Finally, Aristotle’s neutral and theologically unoriented
model of political morphology was fully read and understood in the light of
a henological structure of reasoning ironically almost the same against
which he argued in his Politics focusing on Plato’s morphological model
from the Republic.
Acknowledgements: This work was supported by a grant of the Romanian National
Authority for Scientific Research and Innovation, CNCS – UEFISCDI, project number
PN-II-RU-TE-2014-4-1207.
51
References
Albertus Magnus. 1891. Opera omnia, Paris: ed. A. Borgnet, vol. VI, Ethica.
Albertus Magnus. 1987. Super Ethica. Commentum et quaestiones, Aschendorff: ed. Wihelm.
Kübel, Liber VIII, Lectio X.
Albertus Magnus. 1993. Super Dionysium De caelesti hierarchia, Aschendorff: ed. Paulus Simon
et Wilhelmus Kübel.
Aristoteles Latinus. 1973. Ethica nicomahea, ed. R.A.Gauthier, XXVI, Fasciculus Quartus,
Recensio Recognita.
Aristoteles Latinus. 1973. Vol. XXVI, Fasciculus Quartus, ed. R.A. Gauthier.
Cassel, Anthony K. 2004. The Monarchia Controversy, Washington D.C.: The Catholic University
of America Press. This is his translation of De monarchia I, 12, 9.
Fortin, Ernest L. 1996. Classical Christianity and the Political Order. Reflections on the TheologicoPolitical Problem, Lanham-Boulder-New York-London: Edited by J. Brian Benestad,
Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.
Molnár, Péter. 1998. Science politique au Moyen Age avant la redécouverte de la Politique d’Aristote.
Budapest: PhD. diss. Eötvös Lorand University.
Sălăvăstru, Andrei. 2016. “The Body Politic of Vivat Rex: An Allegorical Political
Discourse and its Reception at the Court of France”. Hermeneia 16: 100-115.
Thoma de Aquino. 1979. Opera omnia iussu Leonis XIII, Roma: P.M. Edita, ed. H.-F.
Dondaine, Tomus XLIII.
52
Corneliu Bilba
Corneliu BILBA*
Jeux de langage, paradigme linguistique
et traduction des concepts.
Le cas de la Politik comme politique d’Etat
Language-games, linguistic paradigm and translation of concepts:
The case of Politik as policy
Abstract: In this article I analyze the problem of conceptual translation, from a
Saussurean point of view. Saussure’s linguistics is an appropriate framework for
this purpose, since it is rooted in the modern comparatist method of philological
and anthropological thought. Each langue, Saussure said, has its own system of
classification: it is a deposit of the community’s long memory and experience.
Now, the translation studies of our day pay no attention to Saussure’s distinction
between langue and parole; they focus on the concrete discourse issues. When we
translate great works of philosophy and social sciences we must consider both
discursive and linguistic issues, because the formation of concepts is rooted in the
langue, and it is shaped by a genre of discourse or language-game. In the conceptual
translation field, the Wittgensteinian notion of language-game must be completed
with the Saussurean notion of langue, since the discourse as a genre is a semiotic
system of second degree, a second langue. When we translate a discourse in a targetlangue we must pay attention to the peculiar structure of that langue in order to find
the best solution. This solution must consider not only the original meaning, but
also the potential interpretations that the source-langue (or the paradigm) allows. I
analyze the example of English translation of Clausewitz’s dictum “the war is the
continuation of Politik”, with Politik translated as “policy”, while it could mean also
“politics”. Here the notion of paradigm shows both the limits of translation and
the guidelines of interpretation.
Keywords: language-game, linguistic paradigm, Saussure, discourse, translation,
war and politics, Clausewitz
1. Ouverture à la linguistique: jeux de langage
Comme pour le langage en général, il y a une « image augustinienne »
de la traduction. Il s’agit d’une sorte d’attitude naturelle qui consiste
dans la croyance que le langage est composé d’un vocabulaire de mots
qui désignent des objets, la signification des mots étant précisément la
relation avec le référent (cf. Wittgenstein 1961, I, § 1). Dans la vision
augustinienne, la traduction serait l’opération par laquelle on établit des
*
53
Jeux de langage, paradigme linguistique et traduction des concepts…
correspondances entre les vocabulaires des langues. Cette opération ne
saurait pas être originelle (un acte de création langagière), puisqu’elle serait
dérivée de la définition ostensive primaire par laquelle les significations
auraient été établies: traduire ce serait, d’une certaine façon, vérifier que la
liste des termes originelle est encore actuelle ou faire en sorte qu’elle
devient (de potentielle) actuelle. La conception augustinienne est réfutée
par Wittgenstein, parce qu’elle ne correspond pas à la manière dont nous
apprenons le langage. La « théorie » des jeux de langage a été conçue
précisément pour montrer que l’apprentissage du langage est purement
fonctionnel et analogique. La signification provient de la pratique: le langage
est comme une « boîte à outils » qui nous permet de résoudre des
problèmes. Ainsi, la traduction interlinguistique, et même la traduction d’un
poème, serait « analogue à un problème de mathématiques » (Wittgenstein
Z, § 698, cité par Lawn 2004, 126).
Il se pose la question si la théorie du langage comme collection de
« jeux » hétérogènes peut fournir une « image » nouvelle de la traduction,
une image qui ne soit pas conditionnée secrètement par le fantasme de la
définition ostensive. Il se trouve que la traduction est un des exemples que
donne Wittgenstein des jeux de langage. Dans la liste des jeux du langage
qu’il fournit, on peut aussi identifier des expériences linguistiques comme « faire
des blagues et les dire » (Wittgenstein 1961, I, § 23). Or, précisément, le cas
des blagues (comme de la poésie) montre que, lorsque nous utilisons le
langage, nous n’avons pas en vue une traduction des expériences nonlinguistiques par les mots (selon le schéma aristotélicien état de choses –
états mentaux – états propositionnels). Une telle conception du langage et
de la traduction a été soutenue par Bertrand Russell qui disait que nous ne
pouvons pas comprendre le mot « fromage » si nous n’avons pas une
expérience non-linguistique du fromage. Et même le premier Wittgenstein
avait défendu une thèse similaire lorsqu’il avait dit que la proposition est
l’image du monde et qu’on ne peut pas traduire la proposition, mais les
éléments constitutifs de la proposition (parce qu’on ne peut pas définir la
signification de la proposition par une définition ostensive). Au contraire,
chez le deuxième Wittgenstein le langage constitue lui-même une expérience
originaire [créatrice]: parler un langage ce n’est pas traduire des pratiques
non-langagières par les mots, c’est une forme de vie qui comprend des
expériences à la fois linguistiques et non-linguistiques. La théorie de la
signification-usage ne veut pas dire que la signification se réduit aux règles
de la grammaire: parler et comprendre ce n’est pas faire des calculs. Il y a
aussi une dimension pratique, non-verbale. Par conséquent, les jeux de
langage ne sont pas des jeux de mots, bien que la pratique de faire des jeux
de mots et de les jouer constitue, sans doute, une forme de vie et un jeu de
langage.
54
Corneliu Bilba
On associe à cette conception du langage une autre vision de la
traduction. Dans le Tractatus, l‟expérience de la traduction interlinguistique
était vue comme une preuve de la relation entre le langage et la structure du
monde: si deux propositions en langues étrangères ont le même sens, cela
prouve que le sens ne se réduit pas à la proposition, donc il y a un état de
choses qui est traduit par les deux propositions. Dans cette optique, il suffit
de connaître les règles de construction et de transformation pour donner
une bonne traduction. En revanche, du point de vue de la théorie des jeux
développée dans Investigations philosophiques, la traduction est elle-même un
« jeu » qui relève d‟une pratique. Traduire c‟est un savoir-faire: on peut faire
des traductions parce qu‟on a appris une pratique et, souvent, on ne peut
pas expliquer les règles de cette pratique. Comme dans le cas des jeux, on
peut suivre une règle sans avoir la conscience explicite de cette règle.
Cela veut dire que, lorsque nous traduisons, nous « jouons » un jeu de
langage à l‟intérieur ou en marge d‟autres jeux de langage. La manière dont
on apprend une langue étrangère montre assez clairement que nous
procédons par le modèle des jeux, en observant, en imitant, en faisant des
analogies, en établissant des identités et des différences etc. C‟est pour cela
qu‟il n‟y pas de traducteur qui puisse donner des bonnes traductions de tous
les jeux langagières à la fois: on apprend un langage en apprenant certains
jeux qui relèvent de certaines formes de vie. [D‟habitude] on ne traduit pas
la Bible si on est athée, ni la Critique de la raison pure si on est poète. Pour faire
une traduction, il ne faut pas « habiter » deux langues; ce qu‟il faut, c‟est
« habiter » un jeu de langage dans les deux langues !
Cela nous amène à la question de la langue. Il est difficile de saisir si
Wittgenstein envisage le problème de la langue, car le mot allemand Sprache
(dans les manuscrits), comme le mot anglais language veut dire à la fois
« langue » et « langage ». La question serait importante pour la raison que
certaines traductions (par exemple celle qui relèvent de la « culture ») ont
comme résultat ou comme ambition de transformer les pratiques langagières
et non-langagières des communautés. Par exemple, on peut légitimement
affirmer que la traduction de la Bible par Luther a modifié radicalement les
formes de vie de la communauté des Allemands. Faut-il parler de « jeux de
langage » en allemand ou bien de l‟existence d‟une langue allemande ? On ne
peut pas donner une réponse satisfaisante avec l‟appareil conceptuel fourni
par Wittgenstein.
Si on parle de « jeux de langage » en allemand, il faut admettre que
certains « jeux » ne sont pas pratiqués exclusivement par les Allemands.
Chaque jeu de langage comprend une pratique (ou « forme de vie »): mais
quelles sont les pratiques que les Allemands pratiquent en commun et que
les Hollandais ne pratiquent pas ? Les Hollandais ont des pratiques
similaires, parfois les mêmes, mais leurs jeux de langage ne sont pas en
allemand. Si les formes de vie ne sont pas exclusives aux Allemands,
55
qu‟appelle-t-on allemand ? Faut-il manger du fromage allemand, pour
comprendre l‟allemand ? Y-a-t-il des formes de vie exclusivement allemandes
qui soient associées à des jeux de langage en allemand ? Ou bien, y-a-t-il une
langue allemande qui comprend tous les jeux de langage que seulement les
Allemands peuvent jouer ? On voit bien que ces interrogations relèvent
plutôt de la pensée de Herder que de celle de Wittgenstein.
Afin d‟éviter que la théorie des jeux de langage sombre dans le
relativisme ou dans l‟essentialisme, il faut supposer qu‟il y a des langues
naturelles. Wittgenstein admet la langue naturelle comme une sorte de
donnée « empirique » incontestable (bien que la langue ne soit pas « empirique »
comme le fromage). Lorsqu‟il conteste l‟idée que le langage ordinaire doit
être régularisé ou reformé afin de satisfaire les exigences de la logique,
Wittgenstein dit que la langue naturelle est la forme « normale » de langage
(Wittgenstein 1961, § 494). Au § 142 des Investigations philosophiques il est dit
que, si le rapport entre règle et exception serait autre, si les deux auraient
une fréquence relativement égale, alors « nos jeux normaux de langage
n‟auraient pas de sens ». A partir de cette idée de normalité, on peut
considérer la position de Wittgenstein comme une véritable ouverture vers
la linguistique. Mais cette ouverture ne permet pas d‟établir des frontières
claires entre la traduction intralinguistique et la traduction interlinguistique
dont parlait Jakobson (1959, 233).
Nous ne pouvons pas développer la problématique de la traduction sans
considérer le problème de la langue comme norme. Cette idée de la
« normalité » de la langue naturelle on la retrouve chez Ferdinand de
Saussure. Un argument pertinent pour soutenir l‟hypothèse d‟un
rapprochement entre Saussure et Wittgenstein serait le recours des deux
auteurs à la même analogie – celle du jeu – pour expliquer leurs visions du
langage. Au § 31, Wittgenstein insiste sur l‟analogie entre le langage et
le jeu d‟échecs, analogie qu‟il reprend plusieurs fois dans le parcours
des Investigations; il dit explicitement que « la forme de la pièce correspond ici
au son où à la forme d‟un mot ». Il est aussi important de souligner l‟idée de
« normalité » qui dérive de l‟idée de règle du jeu (§ 54): même si on ne
comprend pas le langage de quelqu‟un, on peut se rendre compte du
comportement qui vise la correction d‟une faute de langage; en regardant un
jeu nous pouvons saisir ce qui correspond à la règle et ce qui ne lui
correspond pas, même si on n‟arrive pas à formuler explicitement les règles.
Cette reconnaissance des cas normaux et des cas anormaux (§ 141) soulève
la question de la reconnaissance du signe en tant que signe, de la pièce de
jeu en tant que pièce de jeu et du coup en tant que coup permis ou coup
interdit. L‟identité du signe n‟est que la valeur qu‟il a dans le jeu et pour le
jeu. Or, quel est le champ le plus large et où vont les limites de ce champ
qui garantit l‟identité du signe en tant que (même) signe ou de la règle en
tant que (même) règle ? Il n‟est pas nécessaire d‟avoir une théorie des types
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afin de mettre les jeux « en ordre »; néanmoins, on est contraints d‟admettre
que chaque élément du jeu (même la règle) à une « identité » (valeur) et que
cette identité-valeur a une certaine étendue: à partir d‟un « moment » donné
ou d‟un « lieu » (qui peut être assez fuzzy) cette identité se perd dans le
réseau qui la « consomme ». Il est plus facile de parler de language/Sprache
que de langue: ça n‟engage pas une décision pour définir les limites. Mais
qu‟est-ce qu‟une langue ?
2. Qu’est-ce qu’un paradigme linguistique ?
Saussure n‟appelle pas signe une liaison entre une chose et un nom, mais une
relation entre « un concept et une image acoustique » (Saussure1955, 98),
c‟est-à-dire une combinaison entre le signifiant et le signifié, tous les deux
étant de nature psychique. Cette liaison est dite arbitraire, pour la distinguer de la
convention qui suppose une entente préalable à l‟usage du signe (Mauro
1955, 442, n. 137). Cette idée d‟arbitraire est nommée le premier principe de
la linguistique; elle ne permet pas de parler de la langue selon un schéma
représentatif. Le deuxième principe de la linguistique c‟est lalinéarité du
signifiant; il dit que les signes s‟enchaînent l‟un après l‟autre, selon une seule
dimension, pour former des syntagmes (comme la phrase). Selon Saussure, la
phrase appartient à la parole, en tant qu‟expression de la liberté de
combinaison, alors que le syntagme appartient à la langue. Si on comprend
par parole tout ce qui est lié à l‟exécution linguistique (la physiologie et la
psychologie de l‟acte de parler, supposant la volonté et l‟intelligence), la langue
sera la moyenne ou la « cristallisation sociale » (Saussure 1955, 30) de toutes
les nuances psychiques. La langue c‟est le système (des compétences), la
parole c‟est l‟histoire (des performances).
En ce qui concerne les relations entre les signifiés, ils ne sont pas
successifs, mais associatifs. Un « paradigme » n‟est que le réseau dans lequel
se situe le mot, abstraction faite de sa fonction en syntagmes. La langue est
donc l‟ensemble des différences phoniques et conceptuelles résultant des
deux types de comparaisons: associatifs et syntagmatiques (Saussure 1955,
176) Donc, le signe est constitué par oppositions en profondeur (entre le
signifiant et le signifié) et en latéral (entre les différents signes). La valeur du
signe est donnée par les oppositions latérales: « La valeur de n‟importe quel
terme est déterminée par ce qui l‟entoure » (Ibidem 160). En ce sens, il y a
priorité du système sur l‟élément: le signe n‟existe en tant que tel que par
rapport à la totalité de la langue. Le « mécanisme de la langue » est nonreprésentatif, car il est un simple jeu de relations. Pour expliquer le concept de
valeur, Saussure fait, en plusieurs moments de son Cours, une comparaison
entre la langue et le jeu d‟échecs. D‟une part, il y a la valeur des pièces, d‟autre
part il y a les règles du jeu. En réalité, la valeur de chaque pièce est déterminée
par les règles. C‟est-à-dire, l‟identité de chaque pièce (pion, officier, cavalier,
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etc.) est définie par un système d‟oppositions concernant la position de
départ de chaque pièce, les coups permis, etc. Ainsi, un cavalier n‟a pas de
« réalité » que par rapport à une « valeur conceptuelle »; cette valeur n‟a rien
à faire avec la figurine en bois qui signifie la valeur « cavalier ». A la limite,
nous pouvons remplacer une pièce manquante par une pièce de monnaie;
cela ne va changer ni le jeu, ni l‟identité conceptuelle du « cavalier » (Ibidem
153-154). Pour que la pièce appelée « cavalier » s‟identifie constamment,
pendant l‟exécution du jeu, à la valeur conceptuelle il est besoin d‟un système
d‟oppositions matérielles qui constituent la valeur matérielle. L‟identité du
signe suppose le croisement des deux systèmes de valeurs, de telle manière
que « le signe dans sa totalité » se définisse par ce qui le distingue des autres,
matériellement et conceptuellement. La comparaison de la langue avec le jeu
d‟échecs permet à Saussure de dire que la langue est « une algèbre ».
Un aspect particulièrement important est la distinction entre la valeur et la
signification, qui a été sujet de beaucoup de disputes chez les héritiers de
Saussure. Pour expliquer cette différence, Saussure donne plusieurs exemples,
dont nous retenons les mots sheep et mouton. Les deux termes, dit Saussure,
ont la même signification, mais non la même valeur parce que le mot
français mouton signifie en même temps sheep et muttone n anglais: il y a
d‟autres oppositions matérielles et conceptuelles. Dire que sheep et mouton
ont la même signification mais non pas la même valeur revient à dire que la
signification est un rapport du signe à l‟objet. La valeur du signe serait
l‟ensemble des « interprétants », c‟est-à-dire le signifié (la « classe abstraite de
significations se trouvant dans la langue »); la signification serait alors le
« rapport social particulier institué par un acte sémique » (cf. Prieto) ou
l‟« accord entre les signifiés et la réalité de moment » (cf. Godel). Selon de
Mauro (1955, 464-465), la distinction de Saussure entre la valeur et la
signification répond aux exigences de Frege concernant le Sinn et la
Bedeutung1.
Cela met en évidence le double comportement du signifié chez Saussure.
a) Le signifié est d‟abordune classe abstraite qui doit être réalisée, la
signification en étant le terme moyen ou la « réalisation du signifié d‟un
signe faite au niveau de la parole, de l‟exécution ». Cela signifie qu‟au niveau
de la parole [discours] nous avons toujours à faire avec la signification, et
jamais avec le signifié (répertorié par le dictionnaire 2). La signification
apparaît dans le discours, à la suite d‟un acte d‟énonciation. L‟énonciation
est une application, une interprétation du système de la langue: c‟est un acte
de médiation linguistique entre la connaissance de la langue, que possèdent
les sujets parlant, et la situation concrète à laquelle ils doivent répondre.
b) Si on considère l’acte discursif comme point de départ, pour que la signification
s‟identifie à l‟acte de la parole, c’est lesignifié qui apparaît comme terme moyen,
c‟est-à-dire comme interprétant ou manière de faire la semiosis (« la façon dont
le signe propose à notre représentation subjective cet objet ou d‟autres
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possibles »). En ce sens le signifié est présence potentielle de toutes les
manières de faire la semiosis.
On peut dire ainsi que le signifié est lesystème des interprétants d‟un signe.
L‟utilisation de cette terminologie qui relève de la sémiotique de Peirce
pourrait surprendre, car Peirce et son école ne partage pas la vision
théorique qui fait de la langue un système; pour lui, la sémiologie est
une théorie de la connaissance dans laquelle le signe est essentiellement
representamen et rencontre avec l‟objet. Cette audace herméneutique exige de
comprendre pourquoi les deux définitions sont incompatibles. Après la
compréhension, il sera possible de lancer des flèches entre elles. On sait que
Saussure n‟a pas développé une linguistique du discours, et même ce qu‟il a
nommé parole n‟a pas fait l‟objet d‟une étude. Or, c‟est précisément le
fonctionnement du signe dans une situation concrète qui permet de voir le
signe comme relation avec un état de choses. Au niveau du discours il est
question de la réalisation de la signification, donc il est difficile d‟ignorer la
présence du stimulus et la manière dont le signe constitue une réponse.
Cette relation on peut l‟appeler « représentation ». Dans le discours, la classe
du signifié se trouve réalisée par une signification concrète, ce qui permet
d‟établir une équivalence entre le couple signifié-signification et le couple
Sinn-Bedeutung (de Frege).
Ce qui constitue un obstacle pour admettre ce genre d‟équivalence c‟est
le fait que Saussure exemplifie l‟idée de la valeur du signe en partant de la
comparaison philologique entre les langues, sans se poser la question:
comment fait-on lorsqu’on traduit ? Comme Quine le montre3, la traduction ne
pourrait pas s‟effectuer sans établir des équivalences, en partant de
significations-stimuli. La signification de la phrase dépend du contexte,
c‟est-à-dire d‟un certain nombre de stimuli qui conditionnent la
représentationjuste de la valeur du signe. Cela nous conduit à l‟idée que, dans le
discours, nous trouverons toujours la signification et la représentation sous
une forme qui n‟exclut pas le principe de l‟arbitraire, mais qui soulève la
question de l‟arbitraire relatif, dont Saussure a parlé lui-même4.
Nous trouvons un exemple en ce sens dans le débat des linguistes
sur la question des couleurs. Voici l‟avis de Bloomfield: « Les physiciens
considèrent le spectre des couleurs comme une échelle continue d‟ondes
lumineuses de différentes longueurs d‟ondes, allant de 40 à 72 cent
millimètres, mais les langues isolent différentes parties de cette échelle tout à
fait arbitrairement et sans limites précises, dans la signification qu‟ont des
noms de couleur comme violet, bleu, vert, orange, rouge; et les noms de
couleur des différentes langues ne recouvrent pas les mêmes gradations »
(Bloomfield 1970, 133)5. Par voie de conséquence, connaître la signification
du mot « rouge » veut dire connaître l‟univers du locuteur. Cette chose étant
impossible, la science de la langue doit être fondée, selon Bloomfield, sur
l‟observation du comportement. L‟étude de la langue se réduit à l‟étude des
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situations discursives. La langue est faite à partir du discours en supposant
que « chaque forme linguistique a une forme constante et spécifique »
Bloomfield 1970, 137). Bloomfield appelle cette idée « le postulat fondamental
de la linguistique ». Les significations ne pouvant être définies, il faudra,
« après avoir obtenu la définition de certaines formes, définir les
significations des autres formes dans les termes des premières » (Ibidem 138).
Chez le béhavioriste, la langue n‟est pas un système d‟oppositions, donc le
signe n‟est pas défini par ce que les autres ne le sont pas; elle est un système
de significations dans lequel les significations sont construites les unes des
autres. Il ne s‟agit pas de limitation négative, mais de construction positive.
Chez Bloomfield, la langue est un discours tout fait de l‟ensemble des
relations stimulus-réponses, c‟est-à-dire une nomenclature mécanique
« acquise au prix de la rationalité » (Ibidem 137). Cette nomenclature est
constante, de manière que l‟utilisation de la langue met en évidence un
système bien formé car « il n‟y a pas de synonymes réels » (Ibidem 138).
En fait, la notion d‟arbitraire dont Bloomfield parle par rapport à la
segmentation des couleurs est une simple convention. Il n‟y pas de
distinction entre la forme et la substance (Malmberg 1983, 183), entre la
signification et la valeur, entre la synchronie et la diachronie. « Ce que nous
voyons clairement dans le langage mathématique, où les désignations sont
extrêmement précises, apparaît aussi clairement dans les nombreuses formes
du discours ordinaire ». (Bloomfield 1970, 138) On peut dire que, si la
langue était chez Saussure une algèbre, chez Bloomfield elle est une
arithmétique: non pas une structure entrecroisée d‟opérations, mais un
conglomérat de significations. R. Godel a défini la signification de Saussure
comme une propriété de l‟énoncé dépendant non seulement des valeurs,
mais également des situations, des relations, des interlocuteurs et des
préoccupations6. Chez Bloomfield, « pour un locuteur le sens d‟une forme
n‟est rien de plus que le résultat de situations au cours desquelles a
entendu ces formes … [ou] une déviation d‟une forme conventionnelle ».
(Bloomfield 1970, 144) La réalisation de la signification n‟est donc pas
arbitraire mais motivée (partiellement) par le type de stimulus auquel répond
la situation discursive.
Par conséquent, même si le nom des couleurs était absolument arbitraire,
le découpage des gradations des couleurs dans une langue n‟est pas une
opération arbitraire, étant nommée ainsi « seulement si une autre culture
découpe le même continuum de manière différente ». (Eco 1972, 77) La
traduction de ces expériences dans une autre langue ne saurait pas se réaliser
sans tenir compte de la relation des signes avec l‟objet: « Si quelqu‟un ne
connaissait pas le sens du mot pomme, nous pourrions le renseigner en lui
tendant un pomme et en la lui montrant du doigt et en continuant, aussi
longtemps qu‟il fera de fautes, à lui tendre des pommes jusqu‟à ce qu‟il
utilise le mot de façon convenable ». (Bloomfield 1970, 133)
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Il n‟est pas question d‟établir ici laquelle des deux types de linguistique
est préférable. On a vu, Bloomfield ne peut pas dégager un concept
autonome de la langue, puisque le linguiste américain comprend par language
ce qui était parole ou discours chez Saussure7. Mais ses concepts nous
semblent plus aptes à attaquer la question du discours. « En pratique, tous
les linguistes, qu‟ils soient mécanicistes ou mentalistes, définissent les
significations en termes de situations de locuteur et [...] de réponse de
l‟auditeur ». (Ibidem 137) Saussure n‟est ni mentaliste, ni mécaniciste. Chez
lui la langue est une « institution sociale »; si sa définition du signe a été
considérée psychologiste, c‟est parce qu‟elle relève de la psychologie sociale.
La langue de Saussure n‟a rien à faire avec la mens ou avec le behavior.
L‟arbitraire équivaut à la « valeur d‟échange » ou à la moyenne sociale des
préférences individuelles; la linguistique est une science de la valeur. Mais
Saussure ne développe pas la question de la signification. On se demande
alors si sa conception de la parole ne nous laisse pas entendre que la
signification est fonction du contexte de la communication. Evidemment,
cela ne prouve rien par rapport à la langue: tout bon écolier saussurien peut
dire que la réalisation individuelle est ouverte à la situation. Mais ce n‟est pas
l‟ouverture qui fait problème; c‟est plutôt la fermeture. Et encore, non la
fermeture absolue (paradigme, identité) mais la fermeture relative à la
situation. Prenons l‟exemple de Saussure. « Lorsque, dans une conférence,
on entend répéter à plusieurs reprises le mot Messieurs!, on a le sentiment
qu‟il s‟agit chaque fois de la même expression, et pourtant les variations de
débit et l‟intonation la présentent, dans les diverses passages, avec des
différences phoniques très appréciables; en outre, ce sentiment de l‟identité
persiste, bien qu‟au point de vue sémantique non plus il n‟y ait pas identité
absolue d‟un Messieurs! à l‟autre ». (Saussure 1955, 151) Par cet exemple,
Saussure voulait faire comprendre le concept d‟identité du signe: malgré les
différences sémantiques qui apparaissent dans le discours, il s‟agit, au niveau
de la langue, d‟un même signe que les auditeurs reconnaissent en tant que
tel. Nous pouvons rester au niveau du discours et renverser l‟argument: bien
que les deux « Messieurs! » aient la même valeur dans la langue, le mot peut
acquérir dans le discours des significations différentes, d‟un usage à l‟autre.
Mais, en fait, ce qui conserve l‟identité des deux occurrences dans le même
discours, c‟est le fait que les mêmes Messieurs sont présentsen personne à la
même conférence (même endroit, même lieu, même chaleur, même ennui)
prêts à écouter les différentes façons d‟articuler un mot, ex catedra. Ce qui
veut dire que le rapport du signe avec la représentation, inexistant au niveau
de la langue, n‟est pas interdit au niveau du discours. La traduction d‟une
langue à l‟autre en est la preuve, car la traduction ne constitue pas un
problème de langue, mais de discours
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3. Traduction et discours: vouloir dire et pouvoir-vouloir-dire
C‟est exactement ce que Saussure avait en vue quand il disait que chaque
langue opère ses propres classifications. La langue naturelle n‟est pas une
langue bien formée, car elle ne possède pas de règles de transfert de ses
opérations de classifications. Lorsque nous traduisons dans une autre
langue, nous pouvons transmettre les significations concrètes du discours
par la composition d‟un message: il faut choisir (dans la langue cible) les
mots qui correspondent à nos images conceptuelles et les mettre en certains
rapports syntagmatiques. Mais les signes que nous prenons dans la première
langue et les signes qui leur correspondent dans la deuxième langue sont
constitués par des relations différentes, voire très différentes. Dans le cas
des messages simples relatifs à des situations concrètes, on peut utiliser un
« manuel des traductions » que nous possédons en vertu de la connaissance
implicite de deux langues (on peut aussi utiliser un dictionnaire, si nous
connaissons les règles d‟usage). Mais si nous traduisons des discours
sophistiqués qui exigent non seulement rigueur et exactitude, mais aussi
l‟exercice de la fonction poétique du langage, nous serons souvent en
difficulté à cause de l‟incommensurabilité des relations qui constituent
l‟univers conceptuel denos mots.
Nous ne pouvons pas définir la langue naturelle comme un langage
carnapien constitué d‟un vocabulaire analytique auquel s‟appliquentde
manière mécanique les règles de formation et de transformation. Au
contraire, dans la langue naturelle, les règles de formation déterminent
directement les significations du vocabulaire; quant aux règles de
transformations, elles laissent toujours un résidu qui ne peut être transféré
d‟un langage à l‟autre. C‟est ainsi que nous pouvons comprendre l‟idée de
Saussure que la langue est une algèbre [complexe]: la langue n‟es pas une
liste de mots avec ses règles de combinaison simple, car derrière chaque mot
il y a un ensemble d‟opérations qui rend très complexe le système des signes
avec ses règles de transformation.
Par conséquent, même si on pense – comme Bloomfield – qu‟à l‟origine
de la parole il y a des significations-stimuli universelles, on peut encore
soutenir que ce processus mécanique originaire a évolué différemment dans
le cadre des pratiques linguistiques. Il est bien évident que des significations
universelles sont toujours possibles, dans le processus de connaissance et de
transmission des connaissances. Mais on peut admettre aussi que certaines
expériences qui sont fondées dans l‟univers linguistique lui-même – par
exemple, la poésie – ne peuvent pas faire l‟objet d‟une traduction sans reste.
Cela ne veut pas dire que la traduction du message poétique en d‟autres
langues est vouée à l‟échec; la raison en est que les langues-cible ont des
possibilités propres d‟enrichir le message qui (éventuellement) serait
appauvri par le fait de son arrachement de la patrie linguistique originelle.
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Cela suppose que toute traduction suppose l‟interprétation. La condition de
possibilité de cette interprétation est justement la structure propre du
système linguistique, comprenant à la fois les rapports syntagmatiques et les
rapports paradigmatiques. Dire que la traduction est une affaire de discours
c‟est la placer dans l‟univers du vouloir-dire, première souche du sens. On
peut supposer et admettre que tout vouloir-dire originel peut être transféré
sans problème dans une autre langue, par des opérations de traduction plus
ou moins complexes, plus ou moins spécifiques. Mais les chemins de la
pensée sont très diverses et, parfois, l‟opération s‟avère difficile, sinon
impossible. Souvent le vouloir-dire du discours concret est ancré dans le
pouvoir-vouloir-dire d‟un mode de parler, qui est distinct du pouvoir-dire de la
langue.
Par exemple, traduire le mot « Holzwege » (de Heidegger) par l‟expression
« chemins qui ne mènent nulle part » est une bonne et belle traduction du
vouloir-diresimple, mais le vouloir-dire se trouve ici séparé du pouvoirvouloir-dire originel: en français, l‟expression ne reprend ni l‟image des
chemins dans la forêt, ni le sentiment de souci ou de peur, ni la métaphore
de la pensée = forêt, ni l‟exigence de s‟orienter [dans la pensée], ni [donc] le
non-ditque la pensée-forêt n‟est pas une pensée-ville. Entre la performance
et la compétence il y a quelque chose comme la performance-compétence
d‟un genre ou d‟une tradition de pensée (ou de parole); celle-ci n‟est pas
accessible aux sujets parlants par le simple fait de parler une langue: il faut
apprendre aussi une tradition de discours, un forme de « savoir », un « jeu
de langage ».
Les jeux de langage philosophiquessont des bons exemples en ce sens.
Lorsque Heidegger prend le mot Dasein pour le mettre au centre de sa
construction philosophique, il opère un double déplacement linguistique.
D‟une part il transforme le concept de Hegel, Dasein – [ist] bestimmte Sein
(Hegel 1986, 115ff.) – afin de le rapprocher du langage ordinaire et de
l‟expérience quotidienne qui est susceptible de révéler les structures de
l‟existence humaine telle qu‟elles sont à l‟œuvre dans la vie quotidienne.
D‟autre part il construit avec ce mot un discours qu‟aucun individu
ordinaire vivant dans le quotidien et parlant la sacré allemand ne serait
capable de comprendre. Il est peu important si la pratique linguistique
heideggérienne mérite d‟être appelée « philosophie »: on peut lui refuser le
nom de « philosophie » (comme les philosophes analytiques l‟ontdéjà fait),
mais cela ne change pas la nature du problème posé par Heidegger. On peut
dire que ce problème métaphysique relève de la poésie et du sentiment de
l‟existence (Carnap 1985, 177) et que la métaphysique est un substitut
inadéquat pour les arts – les métaphysiciens étant des « musiciens sans talent
musical » (Ibidem 179), donc des poètes sans talent littéraire –, mais le fait de
déplacer le problème vers d‟autres zones n‟annule pas la performance
discursive en tant que telle. Sur le plan linguistique, tout discours
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philosophique est dépendant des trois variables: le vouloir-dire, le pouvoirdire et le pouvoir-vouloir-dire. On peut avoir des hautes compétences dans
la connaissance de l‟allemand (le pouvoir-dire) sans comprendre Heidegger
et sans produire du Heidegger; et on peut vouloir-dire la même chose que
Heidegger sans dire la même chose du tout. Ce qui rend possible la lecture,
la compréhension, l‟exégèse ou l‟imitation d‟un grand auteur c‟est la maîtrise
d‟un genre et d‟un style, et cela exige le pouvoir-vouloir-dire, la compétenceperformance d‟une tradition de discours. C‟est la raison même pour laquelle
la « faute » politique de Heidegger ne suffit pas pour annuler sa philosophie:
la tradition de discours le récupère, « oublie » ses erreurs et le transforme en
objet d‟étude: il est traduit, commenté, interprété. A l‟intérieur de ce
discours, le mot Dasein n‟est certainement pas un « concept » [das bestimmte
Dasein]: c‟est plutôt un réseau constitué par des rapports syntagmatiques et
paradigmatiques, faisant partie d‟un système sémiologique de deuxième
degré. Cette « deuxième langue » dépend des réalisations passées qui sont à
la fois des performances (des discours, des mises en œuvre des potentialités
de la langue) et des compétences (des conditions de possibilités pour tout
discours futur du même genre). Dans la mesure où ces réalisations passées
ont une influence directe sur la substance et la forme de la langue (come
dans le cas des grands poètes et philosophes), on peut dire que certaines
langues ont plus de possibilités que d‟autres; néanmoins, ces possibilités ne
sont que le résultat du travail opéré par les œuvres: il ne s‟agit pas de
possibilités essentielles de la structure linguistique elle-même. Les jeux de
langage actuels rendent possibles (par analogie, comparaison, imitation,
extension, transfert etc.) de jeux de langage futurs, et c’est tout ! C‟est en ce
sens qu‟on peut comprendre l‟obsession de Heidegger pour la poésie. Le
langage philosophique a été précédé (chez les Grecs) par la poésie: non
seulement la poésie exprime les possibilités de la langue, mais elle ouvre des
possibilités nouvelles. L‟idée de la compréhension comme horizon ne dit
pas autre chose, et cela vaut pour toutes les opérations du comprendre, y
compris la traduction. Comprendre et traduire c‟est placer l‟œuvre (le
discours) dans un horizon de possibilités qui est ouvert d‟abord par le
langage (la faculté de comprendre le monde) et, ensuite, par les possibilités
spécifiques de chaque langue [cible]. Ces possibilités spécifiques comprennent
l‟existence des données (cadres) préalables sans lesquelles il serait difficile
de comprendre et de traduire. Lorsque Gadamer dit que la traduction
linguistique est le modèle de toute compréhension, il pense exactement à
cette situation (Gadamer 1996, 408-409). On peut imaginer, par exemple, la
traduction de l‟œuvre de Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, dans une culture qui ne
connaît ni la métaphysique grecque, ni la théologie chrétienne, ni la
philosophie rationaliste moderne. Ce serait une traduction très difficile,
sinon impossible: le traducteur produira un discours nouveau qui sera peut-être
le point de départ d‟une sorte de philosophie, mais l‟expérience du lecteur
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ne sera pas différente de l‟étonnement éprouvé par cet anthropologue qui
entend le mot gavagai prononcé par l‟indigène qui montre un lièvre en fuite
(Quine 1960, 25ff.). Le public ressentira le besoin d‟un manuel de traduction
par lequel on puisse expliquer toute sorte de choix terminologiques; ce
manuel sera en fait comme une encyclopédie intertextuelle qui fasse la
« synthèse » des grands lieux de la métaphysique occidentale visés par
Heidegger. Ainsi pour faire comprendre la critique du sujet intentionnel,un
traducteur chinois va peut-être expliquer l‟idée de sujet à partir d‟une
expérience morale décrite par Confucius, expérience qui ressemble
beaucoup à l‟idée de l‟action orientée vers une fin,dans laquelle la présence
ou l‟absence de l‟effort (Wu-wei) est un indice de l‟état de (ce que nous
appelons) « subjectivité » (voirSlingerland 2008, 109ff.). Mais pour expliquer
l‟idée du sujet transcendantal il devra passer de la vision confucianiste de
l‟action à la conception bouddhisme de la contemplation d‟un « objet » vide,
le « sujet » y étant compris comme simple possibilité d’aller vers, comme
aspiration ou « visée », sans la présence effective de ce qui est visé. Le
lecteur indigène pensera peut-être que la philosophie de Heidegger est assez
bizarre, puisqu‟elle combine le bouddhisme et le confucianisme sans rien
comprendre des deux, mais le traducteur aurait fait son travail en proposant
un schème qui permet de comprendre l‟étrangeté à partir du familier.
Le grand problème avec la traduction des œuvres est le fait que nous
ne pouvons pas utiliser des descriptions trop larges pour expliciter un
concept/mot, pour la même raison pour laquelle nous ne pouvons pas trop
simplifier les descriptions de l‟auteur. L‟explicitation et la simplification sont
des tendances contraires, qui mettent le traducteur en difficulté. Selon les
descriptive translationstudies (G. Toury), dans la pratique il y a toujours une
tendance générale de simplification du texte original, aussi bien au niveau du
lexique qu‟au niveau de la structure grammaticale (voir Pym, Shlesinger, and
Simeoni 2008). Cette tendance qui est appelée loi de standardisation est
contrebalancée par une loi d’interférence qui montre que l‟auteur interfère dans
le texte, en freinant la standardisation. Sur le plan méthodologique, ces
deux tendances peuvent correspondre aux deux stratégies dont parlait
Schleiermacher: « amener le lecteur à l‟auteur et amener l‟auteur au lecteur
[au risque de servir et de trahir deux maîtres] » (Ricoeur 2004, 42).
Il me semble que l‟exigence de maintenir un équilibre entre ces deux
« lois » est imposée par notre conception de l‟auteur et par nos pratiques de
l‟œuvre. Dans la mesure où toute œuvre comprend un certain style de
combinaison des signes, ce qui constitue la marque distinctive de l‟originalité
de l‟auteur, la traductibilité d‟une séquence de discours doit être considérée
à partir des rapports syntagmatiques qui sont susceptibles de préserver le
style de l‟auteur, le genre de discours etc. Dans la pratique de la traduction
on ne peut pas utiliser toutes les ressources dont disposent les langues
pour transmettre un message: le traducteur doit limiter ces choix afin de
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maintenir une bonne relation entre l‟auteur et son œuvre. L‟épreuve de feu
de toute traduction devrait être la retraduction dans la langue source: si le
résultat n‟est pas le texte originel, il devra en tout cas lui ressembler
beaucoup, de manière qu‟il soit reconnu comme étant un autre même. Bien
entendu, le traducteur peut faire toute sorte de commentaires pour justifier
ces choix ou pour clarifier l‟usage de certaines expressions. Mais, en
traduisant, il ne pourra pas donner des riches descriptions des rapports
associatifs qui forment l‟univers relationnel d‟un mot, ce qui influe
directement sur la richesse ou la pauvreté du message. L‟usage de certaines
combinaisons dans les rapports syntagmatiques est le seul indice qui permet
de repérer les variations paradigmatiques qui sont permises dans la visée du
sens. Lorsque nous passons d‟une langue à l‟autre, nous sommes contraints
de choisir des mots ou des syntagmes qui sont plus pauvres ou plus riches
(de relations) que les mots ou les syntagmes de la langue source; alors, le
texte dans la langue cible devient plus fermé ou plus ouvert que le texte
originel. L‟art de la traduction consiste sans doute dans la compensation de
cette difficulté par un type spécial de créativité.
4. Le Clausewitz anglais: politics ou policy ?
Afin d‟illustrer la manière dont l‟incommensurabilité des systèmes linguistiques
sur le plan des relations paradigmatiques impose des « choix » au traducteur,
je prends un exemple. Cet exemple va montrer que l‟ambiguïté est source de
richesse sémantique et que parfois une traduction trop précise n‟est pas
souhaitable. Il s‟agit de la traduction du célèbre dictum de Carl von
Clausewitz: « la guerre n‟est autre chose que la continuation de la politique
par d‟autres moyens » (Der Kriegisteineblosse Fortsetzung der Politik
mit anderen Mitteln […] eine Fortsetzung des politischen Verkehrs, ein
Durchführendesselben mit anderen Mitteln). (Clausewitz 1952, I, 6, 24; cf.
Clausewitz 1989)
Cette « Formule » de la stratégie (Aron 1976, 169-177) a donné naissance
à un vrai conflit des interprétations, conflit provoqué non seulement par le
caractère inachevé de l‟œuvre de Clausewitz, mais aussi par des problèmes
de réception en temps et espace. Ce qui constitue le potentiel conflictuel, du
point de vue herméneutique, de l‟aphorisme clausezitwien c‟est l‟idée que la
guerre serait dans un sens l‟échec de la politique et, dans un autre sens, la
réalisation de la politique! D‟où l‟idée que la définition de la politique est
problématique et qu‟il faut mieux comprendre le politique afin de saisir la
nature de la stratégie et de la guerre. Dans la pratique de la traduction de
l‟œuvre de Clausezwitz cette problématique n‟a pas passée inaperçue. Les
traductions en anglais ont ouvert un champ de réflexion qui, sur le plan
théorique, a eu la même importance que, sur le plan pratique, l‟idéologie
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révolutionnaire. Ce rapprochement n‟est pas sans raison. Lorsque Lénine
avait lu Clausewitz afin de tirer certaines leçons pour la pratique
révolutionnaire, il avait qualifié la guerre dont parle Clausewitz de simple
« jeu ». La raison en est que la guerre conventionnelle clausewitzienne
exige la subordination de l‟armée à la politique gouvernementale; cela
suppose la souveraineté et la limitation de l‟hostilité par des calculs qui sont
inhérents à la rationalité politique moderne basé sur jus gentium. La guerre
révolutionnaire exige, en tant que guerre civile, le renversement de la
politique gouvernementale, le refus de toute limite conventionnelle de
l‟hostilité et la subordination de la guerre à la lutte de classe inspirée par la
haine. En ce sens on peut parler d‟une sorte de renversement de la
« formule » de Clausezwitz: c‟est la politique qui est la continuation de la
guerre « par d‟autres moyens »! De tels renversements ont été opérés non
seulement par Lénine, mais aussi par Mao Tse-Dun, Erich Ludendorff, ou
Carl Schmitt: ils ont parlé de la politique comme guerre prolongée (Mao),
comme militarisme et guerre totale (Ludendorf) ou comme distinction entre
ami et ennemi (Schmitt).
Face à ce type d‟herméneutique totalitaire, il convient d‟établir
rigoureusement ce que l‟on peut attribuer à Clausewitz dans l‟affaire du
rapport entre guerre et politique. La raison en est que Clausewitz a parlé luimême de la guerre populaire (de défense) en prenant comme modèle la
guerre et la politique de la Révolution française. Ce qui caractérise la guerre
populaire c‟est le fait qu‟elle est non seulement la continuation de la
politique gouvernementale de défense, mais aussi une sorte d‟expression des
relations politiques diffuses existant dans la société. Cela veut dire que la
guerre populaire peut continuer même après l‟acte de soumission du
souverain à la volonté étrangère: dans ce cas, la continuation de la guerre
par le peuple est formellement un acte de non-soumission à la volonté du
souverain. Donc la résistance de la nation face à l‟ennemi peut s‟exercer
même contre la volonté du souverain dont la rationalité limite le conflit trop
tôt. En parlant de la résistance espagnole contre l‟invasion de Napoléon,
Clausewitz dit que la guerre populaire est non seulement une intensification
du soutien, mais « une vraie nouvelle source de pouvoir » (Clausewitz 1976,
373). Par conséquent, on peut trouver chez Clausewitz lui-même des
arguments pour interpréter la Formule afin de saisir la nature de la stratégie
dans la guerre révolutionnaire. Mais dans quelle mesure cette interprétation
peut-elle renverser la Formule?
L‟exégèse contemporaine trouve un certain appui dans les traductions
anglaises: Raymond Aron s‟en est inspiré lui-même lorsqu‟il a dû clarifier la
signification du mot Politik chez Clausewitz (Aron 1987, 68-69). D‟entrée de
jeu, tout traducteur anglais doit décider comment va-t-il traduire Politik: par
policy, ou par politics ? S‟il choisit politics, on peut comprendre que la guerre
67
est continuation non seulement de la politique du gouvernement, mais aussi
de la lutte des classes. S‟il choisit policy, on comprend qu‟il faut restreindre
la rationalité de la guerre à la seule politique d’État, à la « politiqueentendement », comme l‟appelle Aron (Ibidem). Et c‟est précisément ce
deuxième sens qui est celui voulu par Clausewitz; en effet, celui-ci affirme
dans une Note (Nachricht) de 10 juillet 1827 que « der Kriegnichtistals die
fortgestze Staatspolitik mit anderen Mitteln »; en ajoutant que ce Gesepunkt
donnera plus d‟unité dans l‟approche de la question. Il va de soi que, pour
un militaire du XIXe siècle, l‟idée de politique est comprise à partir de la
souveraineté légitime incarné dans le Prince: il faut parler de politique
seulement en tant que représentant tous les intérêts de la société (Clausewitz
1952, VIII, 6B; cf. Clausewitz 1976, 606).
Et pourtant, qu‟arriverait-il dans le monde des textes si le traducteur
anglo-saxon disait politics à la place de policy ? La guerre deviendrait-elle autre
chose que la continuation de cette Staatspolitik dont parle Clausewitz dans
son Nachricht ? D‟une certain façon, oui, car [le terme] policy est unilatéral et
renvoie à la raison, alors que politics est « multilateral et interactif – il suppose
chaque fois le fait de donner ou de prendre, l‟interaction, la compétition, le
combat. […] politics ne peut pas être décrite comme un processus rationnel »
(Bassford 2007, 100). Comme la politique, la guerre est multilatérale, car
elle implique plusieurs dimensions: la violence (de la multitude), l‟hostilité
primaire (de la commande), la chance (du gouvernement). Mais Clausewitz
dit aussi que « les buts politiques sont l‟affaire du gouvernement »; ce détail
constitue une limite dans la traduction de la Formule. C‟est pour cette
raison qu‟en réalité aucune des traductions de l‟œuvre de Clausewitz en
anglais ne dit pas « politics » là où le texte original parle de « Politik »: il est
mentionné chaque fois qu‟il s‟agit de la politique d‟État.
Et pourtant, les considérations sur la politics ne peuvent pas être ignorées.
La simple distinction entre les deux sens de la politique demande l‟exégèse
et, à ce niveau, il devient clair que la Politik ne se réduit pas à la seule
relation entre les États. Une vraie distinction entre politique intérieure et
politique extérieure ne saurait être faite qu‟à l‟intérieur d‟une vision réaliste
qui supposerait la discontinuité de principe entre la nature du régime
politique et l‟action internationale. Mais Clausewitz ne pratique nulle part
cette approche, car il est trop préoccupé par le modèle de Napoléon dont la
politique révolutionnaire ne connaît pas la coupure entre intérieur et
extérieur. La continuité entre guerre et politique comprend également les
guerres civiles, les rébellions et les révolutions; ces conflits montrent,
comme les guerres interétatiques, que la stratégie – comprise comme art
d‟utiliser l‟engagement (politique) en vue de la guerre – constitue l‟opérateur
principal de l‟analyse du pouvoir.
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Une perspective intéressante est celle de Bassford (2007, 83) qui voit
certains dangers dans le fait de considérer la guerre comme la continuation
de la simple politique d‟État (unilateral policy). Ces dangers seraient liés à
l‟existence de ce qu‟on peut appeler « culture stratégique » (Colin Gray, cité
par Bassford 2007, 86). Selon Bassford, même dans la traduction réputée de
M. Howard et P. Paret, reconnue pour avoir imposé le terme policy comme
équivalent pour Politik, le déplacement du sens de la policy vers la politics est
inévitable, surtout dans la dernière partie du livre de Clausewitz. En vérité,
nous trouvons dans le livre VIII (1 B) une deuxième occurrence de la
Formule (Clausewitz 1952; cf. Clausewitz 1989). Il est dit que « la guerre est
un instrument de la politique […] la guerre n‟est rien d‟autre que la
continuation des relations politiques à l‟aide d‟autres moyens » (Der
Kriegistein Instrument der Politik […] der Kriegistnichtsalseine Fortsetzung
des politsche Verkehrs mit Einmischung anderer Mitteln). Bassford fait
remarquer que, pour traduire ce passage, Howard et Paret doivent dire
politics (ou political) à la place de policy (ou diplomacy), car c‟est le texte
allemand qui impose cette approche. Par conséquent, le mot Politik utilisé
par Clausewitz comprend aussi bien la politique multilatérale (politics) que la
politique unilatérale (policy) (Bassford 2007, 87). D‟une part, la guerre est un
simple instrument pour les buts de la politique rationnelle incarnée par le
gouvernement (policy); d‟autre part, la guerre ne peut être séparée du
phénomène diffus du pouvoir et du processus (politics) de distributions du
pouvoir au niveau de la société – ce que Clausewitz appelle « commerce
politique » ou « rapports politiques » (politische Verkehrs).
5. En conclusion
Les études de la traduction de nos jours privilégient le point de vue du
discours, mais ignorent la question de la langue et de ses structures. Mais
lorsque nous traduisons des œuvres de philosophie ou de sciences sociales,
c‟est-à-dire des textes qui ont une importante dimension conceptuelle, nous
devons prendre en considération la langue, pour la raison que l‟origine des
concepts se trouve dans le système de classification de celle-ci. En même
temps nous devons tenir compte du genre de discours ou du système
sémiotique de deuxième degré qui façonne les concepts. La traduction du
discours-événement doit se rapporter à la fois à la structure linguistique et à
la tradition de discours, afin de saisir les bonnes solutions non seulement
pour traduire le dit originel de l‟auteur (ça pourrait suffire en littérature, bien
que je doute), mais aussi pour assurer la bonne interprétation à l‟intérieur du
champ discursif spécifique. C‟est ce que j‟ai montré avec l‟exemple de la
traduction de Clausewitz en anglais. La structure de l‟anglais impose de
choisir pour Politik, soit policy, soit politics. Pour traduire l‟intention de
69
Clausewitz il fallait dire policy, mais la Politik comprend aussi la politics et, à un
moment historique précis, il devient sensé de dire que la guerre est la
continuation non seulement de la policy, mais aussi de la politics. Lorsque
cette interprétation (qui est possible non seulement dans la langue source,
mais aussi en d‟autres langues) est limitée en anglais en raison de la structure
de la langue, elle risque de devenir idéologique (puisque conservatrice). La
notion saussurienne de paradigme montre ici sa valeur épistémologique, en
révélant non seulement les limites de la traduction, mais aussi les lignes
directrice de l‟interprétation.
Notes
1 « Du côté de l‟analyse linguistique la plus raffinée, Saussure répond à une exigence
soulignée par les meilleurs logiciens: celle qui pousse à distinguer entre a) la
référence concrète, au moyen d‟un signe, à un objet particulier, et b) la façon dont le signe
propose à notre représentation subjective cet objet ou d‟autres possibles. […] La distinction
entre référence concrète et façon de la faire est rendue par Saussure avec a) signification
(ou sens) et b) signifié. G. Frege, avant Saussure, l‟avait déjà bien vu, lui qui dans Ueber Sinn
und Bedeutung […] distingue entre a) Bedeutung et b) Sinn, reprenant les problèmes
déjà posés par Bolzano » (Mauro 1955, 464-465, n. 231).
2 Saussure reprend ainsi la distinction de Schleiermacher qui disait que les mots ont du sens
(Sinn), alors que les phrases ont une signification (Bedeutung). Mais Saussure ne reprend pas
le troisième terme de Schleiermacher qui parlait d‟une Verstand et qui serait, en fait, le sens
du discours. Saussure n‟admet pas le statut sémiotique de ce qui sera appelé par la su ite
macro-signe.
3 « La récupération du langage actuel d‟un homme à partir de ses réponses actuellement
observées est la tâche du linguiste (…) Les seules données objectives dont il dispose sont
les forces qu‟il voit agir sur les surfaces sensibles » (Quine 1977, 59-60).
4 « Le principe de l‟arbitraire du signe n‟empêche pas de distinguer dans chaque langue ce
qui est radicalement arbitraire, c‟est-à-dire immotivé, de ce qui ne l‟est que relativement.
Seulement une partie des signes est absolument arbitraire; chez d‟autres intervient le
phénomène qui permet de reconnaître des degrés dans l‟arbitraire sans le supprimer: le signe
peut être relativement motivé » (Saussure 1955, 180).
5 Ce qui frappe dans la définition de Bloomfield est la présence du référent d ans la
définition de la signification: découpée arbitrairement, la réalité perceptive elle-même
correspond au phénomène physique. Mais c‟est une notion d‟arbitraire minimal, comme le
dira Benveniste. Bloomfield démontre que l‟arbitraire des langues constitue un obstacle
pour la fondation scientifique des problèmes de la signification. Le linguiste américain croit
à la possibilité de la fondation de la linguistique sur les sciences de la nature et la
psychologie béhavioriste. La définition de la signification comme « situation dans laquelle le
locuteur énonce [une forme linguistique] et la réponse qu‟il provoque de la part de
l‟auditeur » (Cf. Ibidem 132) court-circuite les données de la psychologie mentaliste.
6 C‟est ainsi que R. Godel définissait la signification dont Saussure parlait (cité par de
Mauro 1955, 465, n. 231).
7 « Chez Leonard Bloomfied et chez les post-bloomfieldiens (…) la seule réalité linguistique
est le comportement linguistique individuel, la série des actes de parole, tandis que la langue
est un pur arrangement scientifique » (de Mauro 1955, 419, n. 60). Voir Calvet (1955, 372):
« Coseriu rappelle justement que pour les “Américains ” la langue n‟est rien d‟autre que
“ the totality of all utterances in all situations ” (Z.S. Harris) ».
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Références
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Aron, Raymond. 1987. Sur Clausewitz. Paris: Editions Complexe.
Bassford, Christopher. 2007. “The Primacy of Policy and the „Trinity‟ in Clausewitz‟s
Mature Thought”. InClausewitz in the Twenty-First Century, ed. by Hew Strachan &
Andreas Herberg-Rothem, 74-90, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Bloomfield,Leonard. 1970. Le langage. Payot, Paris.
Calvet, Louis-Jean. 1955. « Notes biographiques et critiques sur Ferdinand de Saussure ».
InCours de linguistique générale, par Ferdinand deSaussure, édition critique préparée
par Tullio de Mauro. Paris: Editions Payot.
Carnap, Rudolf. 1985. « Le dépassement de la métaphysique par l‟analyse logique du
langage ». In Manifeste du Cercle de Vienne, dir. Antonia Soulez, 153-179. Paris:
P.U.F.
Clausewitz, Carlvon. 1952. VomKriege. 16 Auflage, hrsg.von Werner Hahlweg. Bonn:
Dümmler Verlag.
Clausewitz, Carlvon. 1976. On War: Edited and translated by Michael Howard and Pater
Paret. Princeton (NJ): Princeton University Press.
Clausewitz, Carlvon.1989. De la guerre. Trad. fr.lt. col. de Vatry, revisée par J. B. Baudet.
Paris: Editions Gérard Lebovici.
Eco, Umberto.1972. La structure absente. Introduction à la recherche sémiotique. Paris: Mercure de
France.
Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 1996. Vérité et méthode. Paris: Seuil.
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. 1986. Wissenschaft der Logik I. Erster Teil: Die objektiveLogik.
ErstesBuch. In Werke: Bd. 5, neuedierte Ausgabe Redaktion Eva Moldenhauer &
Karl Markus Michel. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.
Jakobson, Roman. 1959. “On Linguistic Aspects of Translation.” In On Translation; edited
by R. A. Brower, 232-239. Cambridge (MA): Harvard University Press.
Lawn, Chris. 2004. Wittgenstein and Gadamer: Towards a Post-Analytic Philosophy of Language.
London and New York: Continuum.
Malmberg, Bertil. 1983. Analyse du langage au XXe siècle. Théories et Méthodes. Paris: Presses
Universitaires de France.
Mauro, Tullio de. 1955. « Notes ». In Cours de linguisitque générale, par Ferdinand de Sausure,
édition critique préparée par Tullio de Mauro. Paris: Payot.
Pym, Anthony, M. Shlesinger, and D. Simeoni (eds.). 2008. Beyond Descriptive Translation
Studies: Investigations in Homage of Gideon Toury.Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John
Benjamin.
Quine, Willard Van Orman.1977. Le mot et la chose. Paris: Flammarion.
Ricoeur, Paul. 2004. Sur la traduction. Paris: Bayard.
Saussure, Ferdinand de. 1955. Cours de linguistique générale. Edition critique préparée par
Tullio de Mauro, postface de Louis-Jean Calvet. Paris: Editions Payot.
Slingerland, Edward. “Crafts and Virtues: The Paradox of Wu-wei in the Analects.” In
Confucius Now: Contemporary Encounters with the Analects, edited by David
Jones, 109-136. Chicago and La Salle (IL): Open Court.
Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1961. « Investigations philosophiques ». In Tractatus logico-philosophicus
suivi de Investigations philosophiques, trad. fr. de Pierre Klossowski. Paris: Gallimard.
71
Hegel und seine Antigone-Rezeption in der Phänomenologie des Geistes...
Cezara HUMĂ *
Hegel und seine Antigone-Rezeption
in der Phänomenologie des Geistes und in
den Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik
Hegel and His Reception of Antigone in
The Phenomenology of Spirit and Lectures on Aesthetics
Abstract: In his Phenomenology of Spirit and Lectures on Aesthetics, G.W.F. Hegel
refutes the idea of equality between opposing moral poles and their dissolving in a
single horizon of understanding (a concept lately asserted by Hans Georg
Gadamer). By this assertion he provides a fresco of his own universe of morality,
which focuses on the re-interpretation of the dramatic character Antigone from
the homonymous play by Sophocles through the Weltanschauung of the German
thinker. At the core of the Hegelian universe of morality is therefore the burial
ritual, where the human law and the divine law collide. Hegel leaves the impression
that the equal status of Antigone and Kreon, Antigone’s submitting to Creon’s
judgment, as well as the sublime ultimate defeat of them both turns the sophoclean
drama to “one of the greatest works of art of all time” (Hegel). In the following,
the theme of morality, along with the representation of the division of substance in
“moments” of content referred to earlier – the human law and the divine law – as
well as the two instances of moral authority resulting from the collision of both
laws will be the main focus of this paper.
Keywords: morality, equality, the division of substance, human law, divine law
1. Zu Hegels Begriff von Sittlichkeit
Zu Beginn des Unterkapitels Der wahre Geist, die Sittlichkeit werden die
Momente des Geistes in seiner “unmittelbaren” oder “einfachen Wahrheit”
und die Erfahrung des Geistes in der einfachen Bewusstseinsdifferenz
dargestellt, wo der Geist sich selbst in den Unterschied des Bewusstseins
und der Substanz setzt. Hegel behandelt diese Trennung des Geistes und
der Substanz als er zeigt, dass der Geist sich als sittliches Bewusstsein auch
in der Substanz realisieren will. Die beiden Pole sind die gedachte Substanz
einerseits und die vereinzelte Wirklichkeit andererseits.
*
“Alexandru Ioan Cuza” University of Iaşi, Romania; email: [email protected]
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Cezara Humă
“Der Geist ist in seiner einfachen Wahrheit Bewußtsein, und schlägt seine
Momente auseinander. Die Handlung trennt ihn in die Substanz und das
Bewußtsein derselben; und trennt ebensowohl die Substanz als Bewußtsein. Die
Substanz tritt als allgemeines Wesen und Zweck, sich als der vereinzelten
Wirklichkeit gegenüber; die unendliche Mitte ist das Selbstbewußtsein, welches |
an sich Einheit seiner und der Substanz, es nun für sich wird, das allgemeine
Wesen und seine vereinzelte Wirklichkeit vereint, diese zu jenem erhebt, und
sittlich handelt, [...]; es bringt die Einheit seines Selbsts und der Substanz als
sein Werk und damit als Wirklichkeit hervor.” (Hegel 2006, 291)
Die Trennung des Geistes in das sittliche Selbstbewusstsein einerseits und
in die sittliche Substanz andererseits spiegelt sich in der Trennung innerhalb
des Selbstbewusstseins und innerhalb der Substanz. Die Substanz spaltet
sich zunächst “in ein menschliches und göttliches Gesetz”:
“In dem Auseinandertreten des Bewußtseins hat die einfache Substanz den
Gegensatz teils gegen das Selbstbewußtsein erhalten, teils stellt sie damit
ebensosehr an ihr selbst die Natur der Bewußtseins, sich in sich selbst zu
unterscheiden, als eine in ihre Massen gegliederte Welt dar. Sie spaltet sich also
in ein unterschiednes sittliches Wesen, in ein menschliches und göttliches
Gesetz.” (Hegel 2006, 291)
Das Selbstbewusstsein spaltet sich ebenso in zwei verschiedenen Ebenen,
die jeweils einem dieser zwei sittlichen Gesetze oder Mächte dienen.
Weiterhin entwickelt Hegel im ersten Abschnitt der Sittlichkeit aus der
Phänomenologie – Die sittliche Welt, das Menschliche und göttliche Gesetz, der Mann
und das Weib – den Begriff einer gegebenen “sittlichen Totalität” (das
menschliche Gesetz). Laut diesem Gesetz ist der absolute Geist
“[... ] das Gemeinwesen, welches [...] hier in seiner Wahrheit für sich selbst als
bewußtes sittliches Wesen und als das Wesen für das Bewußtsein, das wir zum
Gegenstand haben, hervorgetreten ist.” (Hegel 2006, 292-293)
Der Geist tritt “in der Form der Einzelheit” als Wirklichkeit der Substanz
und “in der Form der Allgemeinheit” als Wissen um diese Wirklichkeit
(Hegel 2006, 293) auf. In der ersten Form ist er als realisiertes menschliches
Gesetz das wirkliche Handeln des unmittelbaren sittlichen Bewusstseins
nach seiner vorhandenen Sitte, ist Handeln des Einzelnen und Handeln des
Ganzen (Schulte 1992, 99).
Die Allgemeinheit des menschlichen Gesetzes stellt sich durch das Volk
dar, indem die Einzelnheit sich in zweifacher Hinsicht verwirklicht: erstens,
als sich die Bürger ihrer Einheit des Geistes bewusst werden und zweitens
in der Regierung, die das Bewusstseins des Gemeinwesens in seiner
Totalität als Einheit schildert:
73
“Als die wirkliche Substanz ist er [der Geist] ein Volk, als wirkliches
Bewußtsein, Bürger des Volkes. [...] Er ist in der Form der Allgemeinheit das
bekannte Gesetz und die vorhandene Sitte; in der Form der Einzelnheit ist er
die wirkliche Gewißheit seiner selbst in dem Individuum überhaupt, und die
Gewißheit seiner als einfacher Individualität ist er als Regierung; seine Wahrheit
ist die offene an dem Tag liegende Gültigkeit; eine Existenz, welche für die
unmittelbare Gewißheit in die Form des freientlassenen Daseins tritt.” (Hegel
2006, 293)
Da der Geist auf dieser Stufe unmittelbar ist, muss diese Wahrheit für
das Bewusstsein die Form des äußeren Daseins haben. Sie kann
dementsprechend nicht innerlich bleiben, sondern sie muss sich im Dasein
frei entfalten.
Dem menschlichen Gesetz tritt somit ein anderes Gesetz gegenüber: Das
göttliche Gesetz ist das zweite Moment des Selbstbewusstseins, „die
allgemeine Möglichkeit der Sittlichkeit“ (Hegel 2006, 293), das durch „ein
natürliches sittliches Gemeinwesen – die Familie“ (Hegel 2006, 294)
realisiert wird.
2. Die Entzweiung der Substanz mit Rückblick auf Antigone
und Kreon
“Aber das sittliche Wesen hat sich selbst in zwei Gesetze gespalten, und das
Bewußtsein als unentzweites Verhalten zum Gesetze, ist nur Einem zugeteilt.
Wie dies einfache Bewußtsein auf dem absoluten Rechte besteht, daß ihm als
sittlichem das Wesen erschienen sei, wie es an sich ist, so besteht dieses Wesen
auf dem Rechte seiner Realität, oder darauf, gedoppeltes zu sein.” (Hegel 2006,
307)
Wie schon angedeutet, gehört das Gemeinwesen zur Sphäre des menschlichen
Gesetzes, das das Verhältnis zwischen dem Staat und den Bürgern reguliert.
Die Sphäre des göttlichen Gesetzes bezieht sich auf die Familie und die
Verhältnisse zwischen Mann und Frau, Eltern und Kinder, sowie der
Geschwister. Jede Sphäre verhält sich zu der anderen nicht völlig konträr,
sondern förderlich. Durch die Doppelung der sittlichen Substanz in die
zwei Gesetze kommt es auch zur Doppelung der sittlichen Bewusstseine.
Indem sich das Selbstbewusstsein einem Gesetz verpflichtet, entsteht ein
menschliches und göttliches Wissen.
“Unter den drei Verhältnissen aber, des Mannes und der Frau, der Eltern
und der Kinder, der Geschwister als Bruder und Schwester [...]” (Hegel
2006, 298)
Hegel geht also davon aus, dass hier die Sittlichkeit der Familie von der des
menschlichen Gesetzes abgegrenzt wird. Dementsprechend ist das sittliche
Verhältnis “zuerst das Verhältnis des Mannes und der Frau”
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“Die Vereinigung des Mannes und des Weibes macht die tätige Mitte des
Ganzen und das Element aus, das, in diese Extreme des göttlichen und
menschlichen Gesetzes entzweit, [...] des menschlichen Gesetzes, das sich in
selbstständige Glieder organisiert, herunter zur Gefahr und Bewährung des
Todes; – und des unterirdischen Gesetzes herauf zur Wirklichkeit des Tages
und zum bewußten Dasein, – deren jene dem Manne, diese dem Weibe
zukommt, – in Eine vereinigt.” (Hegel 2006, 304)
darüber hinaus in der Ehe, denn es ist
“das unmittelbare sich Erkennen des einen Bewußtseins im andern, und das
Erkennen des gegenseitigen Anerkanntseins.” (Hegel 2006, 298)
Da der Familie Ausdruck der Pietät ist, die “Eltern und Kinder
gegeneinander” entwickeln müssen, dekonstruiert Hegel mit dem Argument, das
Verhältnis von Eltern und Kinder sei, ebenso wie “die Pietät des Mannes
und der Frau gegeneinander”, “mit natürlicher Beziehung und mit
Empfindung vermischt”, oder dieses Verhältnis sei “von dieser Rührung
affiziert” (Hegel 2006, 299).
Die in der Familie mögliche höchste Beziehung kann nur ein Verhältnis
sein, das weder durch die natürliche Beziehung der Liebe und Ehe noch
durch die für das Eltern-Kind-Verhältnis charakteristische Abhängigkeit
(Schulte 1992, 133), also durch das „Übergehen der Generationen“
bestimmt ist. Sie entsteht, wenn zwei Individuen sich innerhalb des
Familienverbandes gegenseitig ohne Einmischung eines natürlichen Zwanges
anerkennen können, da in ihrem Verhältnis sowohl der rein natürliche, als
auch die Ungleichheit unter den Familienmitgliedern aufgehoben sind.
“Diese beiden Verhältnisse bleiben innerhalb des Übergehens und der
Ungleichheit der Seiten stehen, die an sie verteilt sind. – Das unvermischte
Verhältnis aber findet zwischen Bruder und Schwester statt. Sie sind dasselbe
Blut, das aber in ihnen in seine Ruhe und Gleichgewicht gekommen ist. Sie
begehren daher einander nicht, noch haben sie dies Fürsichsein eins dem
andern gegeben, noch empfangen, sondern sie sind freie Individualität
gegeneinander.” (Hegel 2006, 299)
Zugleich vertreten Bruder und Schwester alle natürlichen Beziehungen der
Familie, also Blutsverwandtschaft, Kontinuität des Blutes, Geschlechterunterschied und gewährleisten das Gemeinwohl der Familie. Ihr Verhältnis
ist ohne Zwang zur Sexualität die reinste Form natürlicher Solidarität, reine
Familienbeziehung, reines Abbild des Geschlechterverhältnisses und die
höchste Form gegenseitigen Anerkennens, die in der Familie möglich ist.
“Der Bruder ist aber der Schwester das ruhige gleiche Wesen überhaupt, ihre
Anerkennung in ihm rein und unvermischt mit natürlicher Beziehung; die
Gleichgültigkeit der Einzelnheit und die sittliche Zufälligkeit derselben ist
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daher in diesem Verhältnisse nicht vorhanden; sondern das Moment der
anerkennenden und anerkannten einzelnen Selbsts darf hier sein Recht
behaupten, weil es mit dem Gleichgewichte des Blutes und begierdeloser
Beziehung verknüpft ist.” (Hegel 2006, 300)
Zwar ist es richtig, dass Hegel hier betont, der Bruder sei schon deshalb in
der Sphäre der Familiensittlichkeit für die Schwester ein unsinnliches
Wesen, da er sich in dem menschlichen Gesetz des Gemeinwesens entfalten
soll. Doch es gilt auch umgekehrt, dass die Schwester als das höchste
Prinzip der Weiblichkeit oder der Familie in dem begierdelosen Verhältnis
zum Bruder zum Teil einer Konstellation wird, wo sie dem Bruder auch
über sein natürliches Leben hinaus die Treue hält (Schulte 1992, 134). Es
wird also schon klar, dass die Schwester zum höchsten Träger der
Familiensittlichkeit hervorgehoben wird. Georg Steiner hebt diese Idee
hervor:
“Bruder und Schwester stehen einander in der interesselosen Reinheit
freier menschlicher Wahl gegenüber. Ihre Verbundenheit transzendiert das
Biologische, um den Charakter einer Wahlverwandtschaft anzunehmen. Die
Sicht, die die Schwester von ihrem Bruder hat, ist ontologisch, wie es keine
andere sein kann: Sein Sein, seine Existenz an und für sich, ist das, was für sie
unersetzlichen Wert hat. Dementsprechend kann es keine höhere sittliche
Verpflichtung geben als die, welche eine Schwester ihrem Bruder eingeht.”
(Steiner 1998, 49)
Indem Hegel das Gleichgewicht der beiden Teilen der Substanz und ihre
Verteilung an die Geschlechter überhaupt mit dem “Gleichgewicht des
Blutes” und der gegenseitigen Anerkennung verknüpft, die in der Familie
zwischen Bruder und Schwester herrschen, wendet er auf eindrucksvolle
Weise seine Theorie am Beispiel von Sophokles Tragödie Antigone an, wo
das Verhältnis zwischen dem göttlichen und dem menschlichen Gesetz an
den Gestalten von Antigone und Kreon verdeutlicht wird.
Mit der Figur von Antigone geht Hegel darauf ein, die sittliche Rolle
der Frau in der bürgerlichen Familie zu betonen. Hegel erwähnt die
Protagonistin aus Sophoklesʼ gleichnamigen Drama in den Vorlesungen über
die Ästhetik:
“Von dieser Art z.B. sind die Interessen und Zwecke, welche sich in der
»Antigone« des Sophokles bekämpfen. Kreon der König, hat als Oberhaupt der
Stadt das strenge Gebot erlassen: der Sohn des Ödipus, der als Feind des
Vaterlandes gegen Theben herangezogen war, soll die Ehre des Begräbnisses
nicht haben. In diesem Befehl liegt eine wesentliche Berechtigung, die Sorge für
das Wohl der ganzen Stadt. Aber Antigone ist von einer gleich sittlichen Macht
beseelt, von der heiligen Liebe zum Bruder, den sie nicht unbegraben den
Vögeln zur Beute kann liegenlassen. Die Pflicht des Begräbnisses nicht zu
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erfüllen wäre gegen die Familienpietät, und deshalb verletzt sie Kreons Gebot.”
(Hegel 2008, 315-316)
Hegel bezeichnet Antigone als eine freie, sittliche Gestalt, welche den Kreis
ihrer Familie verlässt und in das Öffentliche eintritt, um dort das
menschliche Gesetz der Staat im Namen des göttlichen Gesetzes der
Familie zu bekämpfen. Durch die Konfrontation mit Kreon riskiert
Antigone ihr Leben, aber sie ist der Konsequenzen ihrer Handlung bewusst
und bereit, die Verantwortung dafür zu übernehmen:
“ANTIGONE
Wes Leben voller Unheil ist, wie meines,
Trägt der nicht, wenn er stirbt, Gewinn davon?
Drum schmerzt mich nicht, dass sich mein Schicksal nun
Erfüllt. Ja, hätt ich meiner Mutter Sohn,
Den Toten, unbestattet liegen lassen,
Das schmerzte mich, doch dies tut mir nicht weh.
[Mag ich dir nun auch eine Törin scheinen Vielleicht zeiht mich der Torheit nur ein Tor.]” (V. 463-470) (Sophokles 2012, 23)
Auf diese Weise vertritt Antigone das Vorbild einer Frau, die durch
Selbstreflexion und individuelle Autonomie getrieben ist.
Sowohl Kreon als auch Antigone handeln auf der Grundlage sittlicher
Gesetze, dem menschlichen Gesetz des Staates einerseits und dem
göttlichen Gesetz der Familie andererseits. Sie verkörpern diese Gesetze,
indem sie in absoluter Überzeugung von der Richtigkeit ihres Gesetzes sich
benehmen. Das jeweilige Gesetz wird im Bewusstsein und im Handeln der
Antigone und Kreon verwirklicht, als
“Der Sieg der einen Macht und ihres Charakters, und das Unterliegen der
andern Seite wäre also nur der Teil und das unvollendete Werk, das
unaufhaltsam zum Gleichgewichte beider fortschreitet.” (Hegel 2006, 311)
Da beide Momente der “sittlichen Substanz” sind, kommt es zu der Frage,
ob das Bestattungsritual von Polyneikes durchgeführt werden kann, weil er
als Objekt der Kollision der beiden Gesetze zählt. Antigone verteidigt also
das Recht der Toten, beerdigt zu werden. Demgegenüber verteidigt Kreon
eine Form des Staates, in der die Kontinuität der Herrschaft gesichert ist. Er
verbietet es ihr, Polyneikes durch das Begräbnis zu ehren, weil er ein Feind
des Staates war.
Hätte also Antigones Handlung absolute Berechtigung, so würden die
Götter nicht erlauben, dass Antigone durch Kreon bestraft würde. Sie stellt
auf dem Weg zu ihrer Hinrichtung fest:
“ANTIGONE
Welch göttliches Gesetz hab ich verletzt?
Was soll ich Arme zu den Göttern noch
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Aufschauen? Welchen Helfer ruf ich an?
Heiß ich doch, weil ich fromm war, Frevlerin!
Ja, wenn es so den Göttern wohlgefällt,
Dann seh ich ein: Ich leide, weil ich fehlte.
Doch fehlten diese, treffe sie nichts Ärgres,
Als was sie wider Recht an mir getan!” (V. 921-928) (Sophokles 2012, 41-42)
Antigones Tod, sowie Kreons Untergang als Herrscher stellt das
Gleichgewicht zwischen den beiden Gesetzen wieder her – daraus ergibt
sich die Tatsache, dass die Individuen nicht überleben können, ohne an
ihrem Gesetz festzuhalten (Bockenheimer 2013, 409). Beide bedürfen dem
anderen Gesetz, um überhaupt existieren zu können und – nicht zuletzt –
die Grundlinien der hegelschen Erörterung, dass die Familie ein Element
des Gemeinwesens ist, der Staat ebenso auf der Existenz der Familie
angewiesen ist, d.h. ihre individuelle Existenz wird durch die Existenz des
Gegenteils definiert.
3. Der Konflikt der sittlichen Mächte
“Werden beide Mächte nach ihrem bestimmten Inhalte und dessen
Individualisation genommen, so bietet sich das Bild ihres gestalteten
Widerstreits, nach seiner | formellen Seite, als der Widerstreit der Sittlichkeit
und des Selbstbewußtseins mit der bewußtlosen Natur und einer durch sie
vorhandenen Zufälligkeit, – diese hat ein Recht gegen jenes, weil es nur der
wahre Geist, nur in unmittelbarer Einheit mit seiner Substanz ist; – und seinem
Inhalte nach, als der Zwiespalt des göttlichen und menschlichen Gesetzes dar.”
(Hegel 2006, 311)
Im Entwurf des sittlichen Millieus des Antigone-Kapitels bekommt die
Konstruktion der Sittlichkeit innerhalb der Polis eine schwere Gewichtung.
Hegel entwickelt in diesem Rahmen das Modell einer Hierarchisierung von
absoluter Macht der Regierung, vetreten durch Kreon, und der Macht der
sittlichen Familie, durch Antigone.
“Alles in dieser Tragödie ist konsequent; das öffentliche Gesetz des Staats und
die innere Familienliebe und Pflicht gegen den Bruder stehen einander streitend
gegenüber, das Familieninteresse hat das Weib, Antigone, die Wohlfahrt des
Gemeinwesens Kreon, der Mann, zum Pathos.” (Hegel 2008, 496)
Obwohl er betont, die Familie und das Gemeinwesen sind in dieser Weise
aufeinander bezogen und einander ergänzen und gegenseitig hervorbringen,
lässt sich das Zusammenspiel zwischen dem menschlichen und dem
göttlichen Gesetz nicht in einem harmonischen Rahmen erscheinen. In der
Phänomenologie heißt es:
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Cezara Humă
“Aber die Regierung, als die einfache Seele oder das Selbst des Volksgeistes,
verträgt nicht eine Zweiheit der Individualität; und der sittlichen Notwendigkeit
dieser Einheit tritt die Natur als der Zufall der Mehrheit gegenüber auf. Diese
beiden waren darum uneins, und ihr gleiches Recht an die Staatsgewalt
zertrümmert beide, die gleiches Unrecht haben.” (Hegel 2006, 311-312)
Gerade das scheint der Ausgangspunkt der Debatte zu sein: Antigone und
Kreon vertreten gleichberechtigte Mächte, die gleichermaßen die Rechte des
Gegenübers verletzt haben. Im Abschluss des Geist-Kapitels problematisiert
Hegel den Sieg der Familienpietät und den Untergang der beiden sittlichen
Mächte durch das Bestattungsverbot.
In der Verurteilung Antigones, in ihrem Tod, sowie in der Ablehnung
der Bestattung erweist sich das menschliche Gesetz und Kreon, als
Vertreter der Staatsraison, als diejenige Seite, die das Recht hat, das
Individuum, den Einzelnen zu verletzen und zu unterdrücken. Dadurch
lässt Kreon zum Ausdruck bringen, dass die Harmonie des Gemeinwesens
gefährdet ist, wenn der Wille des Einzelnen sich vom Allgemeinen
losmachen will oder sich sogar gegen das Gemeinwesen richtet:
“KREON
Unmöglich kann man eines Menschen Herz,
Sein Denken und sein Wollen ganz erkennen,
Eh er in Staat und Ämtern sich erprobt.
Für mich ist einer, der ein ganzes Volk
Zu führen hat und nicht an seinen besten
Entschlüssen festhält, sondern ängstlich schweigt,
Ein Feigling, und so dachte ich schon immer.
Wem aber höher als sein Vaterland
Die Freunde stehn, der ist für mich nichts wert.” (V. 175-183) (Sophokles 2012,
11-12)
Mit Kreons Entscheidung, Antigone zu bestrafen, weil sie ihren Bruder
Polyneikes, den “Staatsverräter”, wider sein Verbot bestatten hat, scheint
das Gemeinwesen zunächst “über das sich empörende Prinzip der
Einzelnheit, die Familie, [...] den Sieg” (Hegel 2006, 312) davonzutragen.
Das Gemeinwesen kann deshalb zunächst als Sieger nachkommen, weil es
die selbstbewusste Macht ist. Das göttliche Gesetz ist dagegen das
“unterirdische” Gesetz. Das menschliche Gesetz befindet sich jedoch mit
dem göttlichen Gesetz einheitlich in der Substanz. Weiterhin macht Hegel
darauf aufmerksam, dass das Gemeinwesen des Todes, der unterirdischen
Macht des göttlichen Gesetzes bedarf, um seine eigene Macht vor den
Bürgern zu bekräftigen:
“Er hat aber gegen das gewalthabende, am Tage liegende Gesetz seine Hülfe
zur wirklichen Ausführung nur an dem blutlosen Schatten. Als das Gesetz der
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Schwäche und der Dunkelheit unterliegt er daher zunächst dem Gesetze des
Tages und der Kraft, denn jene Gewalt gilt unten, nicht auf Erden. [...] Der
offenbare Geist hat die Wurzel seiner Kraft in der Unterwelt; [...]” (Hegel
2006, 312)
In diesem Zusammenhang gehört auch eine unmittelbare Vermittlung
zwischen dem Tod des Individuums und der Sittlichkeit des Gemeinwesens,
die von der Regierung und menschlichem Gesetz dominiert wird. Wenn der
Tote durch die Familie begraben wird, wird seine Leiche also “nicht durch
die ihr gebührende Zurückgabe an das elementarische Individuum in die
bewußtlose Allgemeinheit erhoben” (Hegel 2006, 313). Diese Behauptung
verbindet Hegel mit dem Sieg der Familienpietät über das menschliche
Gesetz. Michael Schulte geht darauf ein, dass Hegel in seiner Analyse über
die sittliche Welt nicht nur “die Gleichberechtigung der Familienpietät und
staatlicher Macht geltend macht, sondern das darüber hinaus entwickelt,
dass die Bestattung der Toten die höchste Legitimationseinsatz staatlicher
Gewalt und Herrschaft ist” (Schulte 1992, 372).
Kreon verteidigt seine Herrschaftsberechtigung und die Einheit des
Staates, wo der natürliche Wille des Einzelnen dem Willen des Herrschers
entspricht. Passend sind für Kreon schon die Bestattung und die ihr
gegenübergestellte Nichtbestattung Ausdruck für die Legitimation seiner
Ansprüche. Wenn Eteokles und Polyneikes das Polis angegriffen und
verloren haben, so glaubt Kreon letzlich durch die Nichtbestattung seines
Feindes seine Herrschaft zu verteidigen. Antigone hingegen verteidigt das
Recht des Toten aus der Position des Blutsverwandten und der Vertreterin
des göttlichen Gesetzes.
“ANTIGONE
Gab Kreon nicht dem einen unsrer Brüder
Des Grabes Ehr und weigert sie dem andern?
Eteokles barg er nach Recht und Sitte
Im Schoss der Erde, heißt es, dass er drunten
Bei de Verstorbenen in Ehren steht,
Des Polyneikes armer Leichnam aber
Darf nicht beweint und nicht begraben werden [...]
Ein solch Gebot hat uns der edle Kreon
Verkündet, dir und mir, du hörst: auch mir.” (V. 21-32) (Sophokles 2012, 5-6)
In der sittlichen Welt Antigones ist ihr Recht nicht erfüllt und vom Staat
unterdrückt und sie reagiert demgemäß. Es bleibt also die Frage, inwiefern
Hegel die Problematik ihrer Schuld und “Verbrechens” (Steiner 1998, 51)
behandelt. Nachdem Antigone die Gerechtigkeit ihrer Tat bekräftigt hat,
wendet sie sich im Namen der familiären Beziehung an den toten Bruder:
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Cezara Humă
“ANTIGONE
[Und doch, wer klug ist, lobt, dass ich dich ehrte.
[...]
Nach solcher Satzung ehrt ich dich vor andern,
Geliebter Bruder, aber Kreon fand,
Dass ich mich schuldig machte und empörte.
Und nun packt seine Faust mich, schleppt mich fort,
Kein Brautbett ward mir und kein Hochzeitslied
Zuteil, kein Gatte, keines Kindes Pflege.
Verlassen so von aller Liebe, geh ich
Lebendig in die Grabesgruft der Toten.]” (V. 904-920) (Sophokles 2012, 41)
In welchem Sinne sie schuldig ist und sie ein Verbrechen begeht, ist
zweideutig ausgedrückt: Sie widerspricht dem Befehl des Herrschers und
verletzt das Gebot des menschlichen Gesetzes, dem auch sie sich
unterwerfen muss. Auf diese Weise wird Kreons Tat, Antigone
hinzurichten, legitimiert. Jedoch wird Antigones Treue zu ihrer Substanz so
verständlich, als sie sich gegen das menschliche Gesetz richtet und durch
die Verletzung des Rechts des Gemeinwesens ihre Strafe verdient hat. Sie
handelt nicht aus Leidenschaft, sondern sie bricht damit aus, da sie es auf
sich nimmt, die Gerechtigkeit ihres Tuns zu legitimieren. Ihr Verbrechen
führt im Endeffekt zu einer Schuldanerkenntnis und zum Leiden, was
Kreon am Ende der Tragödie realisiert: Er ist zugleich zum Untergang als
Herrscher verurteilt:
“Gleichmäßig läßt Sophokles in seiner ʽAntigoneʼ nicht nur die Antigone
leiden und untergehen; im Gegenteil sehen wir ebensosehr den Kreon durch
den schmerzlichen Verlust seiner Gattin und des Hämon gestraft, die durch
den Tod der Antigone gleichfalls ihren Untergang finden.” (Hegel 2008, 505)
Antigone, die aus der gesellschaftlichen Ordnung herausgefallen ist, oder in
die sie nie integriert wurde, will genau von dieser Grenze her, dem Tod als
der radikalen Negativität, sich konstituieren. Sie will im Leiden anerkannt
werden, also sich bewusst im Anklang mit ihrer Sorge um den toten Bruder
ein Schicksal schaffen. Da die Sorge um die Toten zu den archaischen
Kulturverfahren gehört, entsteht eine unabänderliche Bestattungspflicht,
die vor allem von den Angehörigen erfüllt werden muss. Mit fester
Überzeugung davon gerät Antigone auch im Konflikt mit ihrer Schwester
Ismene, die sich eher dem menschlichen Gesetz unterwerfen lässt:
“ISMENE
[...]
Der Stärkere hat über uns Gewalt,
Er kann noch Härtres fördern als nur dies.
So flehe ich zu denen unterm Boden,
Sie mögen mir verzeihen, da Gewalt
81
Mich zwingt. Ich füge mich der Obrigkeit:
Maßlos zu handeln hat ja keinen Sinn.
ANTIGONE
Ich heiß dich nicht mehr. Und wenn du noch wolltest,
Mich könnte deine Hilfe nicht mehr freun.
Sei du nur, wie dir gut scheint – ich begrab ihn,
Und wenn ich dafür sterbe, das ist schön.
Geliebt bei dem Geliebten ruh ich dann,
Und fromm hab ich gefrevelt. [...]” (V. 63-74) (Sophokles 2012, 7)
Entzieht man von dem fundamentalen Widerspruch zwischen der absoluten
Geltung eines Gesetzes und dem Vorhaben, es durchzusetzen, so handelt
Antigone in einer Lage, in der nicht eine Strafbedrohung die Quelle des
rechten Verhaltens ist, sondern wo das Gesetz, dem man folgt, gültig ist.
Obwohl Kreon die Macht hat, die Bestattung zu verbieten und einen
Verstoß gegen sein Gebot zu bestrafen, so kann er Antigone doch nicht zu
Recht verbieten, ihre sittliche Pflicht zu erfüllen. Dementsprechend begeht
Antigone bewusst das Verbrechen, da sie ihr Gesetz höher stellt. Aber sie
hat sich nicht nur dem menschlichen Gesetzes unterworfen, sondern auch
dem Urteil des griechischen Volks. Daneben meint sie, sie handelt auch im
Namen der Götter, weil sie diese Grausamkeiten zugelassen haben.
“ANTIGONE
[...]
Io! Dirkequellen! Heiliger Hain
Im wagenprangenden Theben!
Ihr doch werdet mir zeugen,
Wie unbeweint von Freunden, nach was
Für Recht ich muss in den Kerkerschacht,
Ins unerhörte Grab.
Io! Ich Unselige hause
Nicht lebendig bei Menschen
Noch bei Toten ein Toter.” (V. 845-852) (Sophokles 2012, 39)
Geht man davon aus, dass bei Sophokles Antigone in ihren letzten Worten
die Gewißheit ausspricht, dass sie sowohl von Menschen als auch von
Göttern verlassen ist, dann bedeutet dies, dass weder das Gemeinwesen und
die himmlischen Götter noch die Götter der Unterwelt die Gerechtigkeit
gewährleisten können oder dass es keinen notwendigen Zusammenhang
zwischen den offenbarten und gegebenen göttlichen Gesetzen und ihrer
Wirklichkeit geben kann.
Man könnte sagen, dass Hegels Interpretation der Sophokleischen
Antigone sich als ein Versuch erweist, in dem gezeigt wird, dass das Befolgen
einer Ethik in einer idealen Welt zum Scheitern verurteilt ist. Hegel schreibt:
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Cezara Humă
“Dieser Untergang der sittlichen Substanz, und ihr Übergang in eine andere
Gestalt ist also dadurch bestimmt, daß das sittliche Bewußtsein auf das Gesetz
wesentlich unmittelbar gerichtet ist; [...]” (Hegel 2006, 15)
In der Antigone zunächst muss man in erster Linie erkennen, dass diese zwei
scheinbar harmonisierenden und zugleich nicht hierarchisierbaren Normen
im Konflikt geraten. Das göttliche Recht und die menschliche Wirklichkeit
fallen auseinander und diese Entzweiung führt zur Hervorbringung des
menschlichen Handelns.
4. Das Bild von Antigone in der Phänomenologie des Geistes
und in den Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik
Durch die Lektüre der sophokleischen Tragödie werden vielfältige
kulturgeschichtliche Assoziationen erweckt. Die prekäre Grenze des
menschlichen Daseins wird durch eine Frauengestalt verkörpert. Antigone
zeigt ihre Weiblichkeit und ihre Zugehörigkeit zu der Sphäre des göttlichen
Gesetzes gerade in der Konfrontation mit Kreon, wenn sie die
Legitimierung des Bestattungsverbots in Frage stellt:
“ANTIGONE
Der das verkündete, war ja nicht Zeus,
Auch Dike in der Totengötter Rat
Gab solch Gesetz den Menschen nie. So groß
Schien dein Befehl mir nicht, der sterbliche,
Dass er die ungeschriebnen Gottgebote,
Die wandellosen, könnte übertreffe.
[...]
An ihnen wollt ich nicht, weil Menschenstolz
Mich schrekte, schuldig werden vor den Göttern.
Und sterben muss ich doch, das wusste ich
Auch ohne deinen Machtanspruch. [...]” (V. 450-461) (Sophokles 2012, 22-23)
Die von Sophokles inszenierte Aufspaltung der sittlichen Mächte (Antigone
und Kreon) zeigt retrospektiv auf den Beginn einer Epoche, in den Frauen
aus dem Machtbereich des Polis ausgeschlossen waren. Die Grenze zwischen
den Geschlechtern wird hier erschüttert und wie der Tragödienablauf
verweist, wird diese Überschreitung gegeneinander ausgerichtet und sogar
ritualisiert.
In der Phänomenologie des Geistes fungiert also Antigone als Objekt der
Hegelschen Konstruktion von menschlichem und göttlichem Gesetz, von
Gemeinwesen und Familie, von “Mann und Weib”, die sich einander
bestimmen und aufheben. Dem Mann, der seine Allgemeinheit im Bezug
auf das Gemeinwesen findet, wird “das Recht der Begierde” erlaubt. Dem
“Weib” aber, dem dieser Bezug fehlt, muss „der Einzelnheit der Begierde“
fremd bleiben.
83
“Im Hause der Sittlichkeit ist es nicht dieser Mann, Kinder überhaupt, – nicht
die Empfindung, sondern das Allgemeine, worauf sich diese Verhältnisse des
Weibes gründen. Der Unterschied seiner Sittlichkeit von der des Mannes
besteht eben darin, daß es in seiner Bestimmung für die Einzelnheit und in
seiner Lust unmittelbar allgemein und der Einzelnheit der Begierde fremd
bleibt; dahingegen in dem Manne diese beiden Seiten auseinandertreten, und
indem er als Bürger dieselbstbewußte Kraft der Allgemeinheit besitzt, erkauft er
sich dadurch das Recht der Begierde, und erhält sich zugleich die Freiheit von
derselben.” (Hegel 2006, 300)
Die Position, die den Frauen durch die gleichzeitige Entstehung des Staates
und der patriarchalen Familie zugeschrieben wurde, wird deutlich, wenn
man sich vorstellt, welche Bedeutung sie für den Zusammenhalt und die
Struktur der Gemeinschaften hatten. Die Frauen waren dafür zuständig, die
Kontinuität der Familie zu gewährleisten, so dass die soziale Ordnung nicht
umgestürzt werden konnte. Der Status und das soziale Ansehen einer Frau
waren über die Beziehung zu einem Mann bestimmt.
Der Bezug der Schwester auf den Bruder wird hier als notwendiger als
die Beziehung zwischen der Frau und dem Mann bezeichnet.
“Das Weibliche hat daher als Schwester die höchste Ahndung des sittlichen
Wesens; zum Bewußtsein und der Wirklichkeit desselben kommt es nicht, weil
das Gesetz der Familie das ansichseiende, innerliche Wesen ist, das nicht
am Tage des Bewußtseins liegt, sondern innerliches Gefühl und das der
Wirklichkeit enthobne Göttliche bleibt. [...] Als Tochter muß nun das Weib die
Eltern mit natürlicher Bewegung und mit sittlicher Ruhe verschwinden sehen,
denn nur auf Unkosten dieses Verhältnisses kommt sie zum dem Fürsichsein,
dessen sie fähig ist [...]” (Hegel 2006, 299-300)
Hegels Interpretation von Sophokles Antigone spielt eine zentrale Rolle bei
der Verhüllung der Funktion des Weiblichen in dem Hegelschen System. In
seinen Werken Phänomenologie des Geistes und Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik hat
er darauf hingewiesen, dass die Verwirklichung der Frau ausschließlich im
Rahmen der Familie möglich ist. Antigone wird darin als paradigmatische
Figur des Weiblichen dargestellt, die ihre Einordnung in der Sphäre des
göttlichen Gesetzes begründet.
“Der Bruder ist aber der Schwester das ruhige gleiche Wesen überhaupt, ihre
Anerkennung in ihm rein und unvermischt mit natürlicher Beziehung; die
Gleichgültigkeit der Einzelnheit und die sittliche Zufälligkeit derselben ist
daher in diesem Verhältnisse nicht vorhanden; sondern das Moment des
anerkennenden und anerkannten einzelnen Selbsts darf hier sein Recht
behaupten, weil es mit dem Gleichgewichte des Blutes und begierdeloser
Beziehung verknüpft ist. Der Verlust des Bruders ist daher der Schwester
unersetzlich, und ihre Pflicht gegen ihn die höchste.” (Hegel 2006, 300)
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Cezara Humă
In Hegels bereits erwähnten Ausführung ist also die Frau als Schwester
hypostasiert, die die Verantwortung für den Bruder als Mitglied der Familie
übernimmt, eine Tatsache, die umgekehrt nicht funktionieren kann. Diese
ungleichmäßige Verantwortung mildert etwa die Art und Weise, wie man
die Beziehung zwischen Bruder und Schwester als Ideal ansieht, ab, die zu
dem Konflikt der sittlichen Mächte führt.
Für Hegel bedeutet die Aufhebung beider Mächte den Ausdruck des
dualistischen Konflikts aus der Antike. Die Entwicklung des menschlichen
Bewusstseins außerhalb der Familie ist geschlechtsbedingt und nur auf dem
Mann beschränkt. Die Frau kann nie ohne den Bezug auf den Mann danach
streben (Jagentowicz Mills 1996, 66).
5. Fazit
Der Geist stellt sich als objektiver Geist, sowie als Gemeinwesen in der
Dialektik von Individuum und Gemeinschaft dar. Jedoch erweist sich die
Wirklichkeit der Anerkennung des Letzteren als die Unmittelbarkeit des
Geistes. Diese unmittelbare Objektivität des Geistes erblickt Hegel in der
Familien- und der Volksgemeinschaft und ihren geltenden Gesetzen. Die
Sittlichkeit als wahre Ordnung in der Einheit setzt Hegel in die
Allgemeinheit der Familie und wiederum in die Sitte der Tottenbesttatung
als Pflicht gegenüber der Einzelnheit des Individuums.
In der Kunstform der griechischen Tragödie wird der eigentliche
Zusammenhang zwischen dem menschlichen und dem göttlichen Gesetz
dargestellt. Beide Gesetze enthalten die sittliche Substanz “ganz und alle
Momente ihres Inhalts”. Am Beispiel des Konflikts zwischen Antigone und
Kreon zeigt Hegel, dass das Prinzip des Gemeinwesens dem Prinzip der
Einzelnheit widerspricht, da das Gemeinwesen durch die Unterdrückung
des Prinzips der Einzelnheit (der Familie) sich erhält. Es kommt also zu
einem Konflikt zwischen Staat und Familie.
An dem Handeln der Antigone zeigt sich nach Hegel der in der
griechischen Sittlichkeit angelegte Konflikt der beiden Gesetze in
besonderer Deutlichkeit. Während Antigone als Frau sich ganz dem
göttlichen Gesetz, dem Gesetz der Familie verschreibt, vertritt Kreon als
Mann einseitig das menschliche Gesetz, das Gesetz der Polis.
Antigone weiss, dass sie durch ihr Handeln nach dem göttlichen Gesetz
gegen das menschliche Gesetz, das öffentliche Recht der Polis verstößt. Sie
negiert damit die Berechtigung der Verordnung durch Kreon, nach dem ihr
Bruder Polyneikes als “Verräter” der Polis nicht bestattet werden darf.
Zunächst wird Antigones Tod und Kreons Untergang als Herrscher zum
Ausdruck für ihre unmittelbare Beziehung mit dem jeweiligen sittlichen
Gesetz, dem sie verpflichtet waren. Die Gerechtigkeit wird nur da
hergestellt, wo ein Gleichgewicht der beiden Mächte erreicht worden ist,
was nur durch die Unterwerfung beider Seiten unter die Einheit der
sittlichen Substanz möglich ist.
85
Literaturverzeichnis
Primärliteratur
Hegel, G.W.F. 2006. Phänomenologie des Geistes. Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag.
Hegel, G.W.F. Hegel. 2008. Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik I/II. Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam
Verlag.
Sophokles. Antigone. 2012. Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam Verlag.
Sekundärliteratur
Bockenheimer, Eva. 2013. Hegels Familien- und Geschlechtertheorie. Hamburg: Felix Meiner
Verlag.
Jagentowicz Mills, Patricia. 1996. Hegelʼs Antigone. In: Feminist Interpretations of G.W.F. Hegel.
Herausgegeben von Patrica Jagentowicz Mills. Pennsylvania University Park: The
Pennsylvania State University Press.
Schulte, Michael. 1992. Die ”Tragödie im Sittlichen“. Zur Dramentheorie Hegels. München:
Wilhelm Fink Verlag.
Steiner, Georg. 1988. Die Antigonen. Geschichte und Gegenwart eines Mythos. Aus dem
Englischen von Martin Pfeiffer. München: Carl Hanser Verlag.
86
Constantin-Ionuţ Mihai
Constantin-Ionuţ MIHAI *
Competing Arts: Medicine and Philosophy in
Aristotle’s Protrepticus
Abstract: Aristotle’s Protrepticus shows traces of a long-standing dispute concerning
the hierarchy of different technai. In this paper I argue that the Protrepticus stages an
agon between philosophy and medicine, both of which strove for the status of a
techne of cognitive and intellectual authority. By making reference to several medical
methods and concepts, Aristotle tried to reveal the preeminence of philosophy in
the knowledge of human nature and, thereby, debunked the claims of medicine for
a rightful and unerring arbiter of the best way of life. Through my analysis I try to
illustrate that a large part of Aristotle’s polemic with medicine was directed against
several statements made in Hippocratic literature. Finally, I suggest that in his
polemic against medicine Aristotle envisaged a particular type of opponent which
is to be identified with the rigoristic medical practitioners and writers whose
methods of inquiry and viewpoints were exposed by the Hippocratic author of
Ancient Medicine.
Keywords: Aristotle’s Protrepticus, ancient philosophy, ancient medicine, Hippocratic
literature, philosophical protreptic
As a large amount of scholarly literature attests, the relationship between
ancient medicine and philosophy has become in the past few decades a
topic of interest among scholars. Various studies have shown that reciprocal
influences between the two disciplines in antiquity were pervasive and wideranging. Among many illustrative examples, Aristotle’s work seems to
be a case in point. While Aristotle’s natural philosophy has significantly
influenced the development of ancient medicine, the influence exerted by
medical theories and methods upon his own work is no less extensive.
Detailed and insightful analyses of both these aspects have been
offered, among others, by Jaeger (1957), Lloyd (1968), Hutchinson (1988),
Nussbaum (2009), and Johnson (2012). However, despite all these
significant contributions, still there are several aspects of Aristotle’s use of
medical matters which require further investigation.
The relationship between medicine and philosophy as attested in
Aristotle’s Protrepticus has not yet received its due attention.1 This paper is
intended to contribute to this question. In what follows, I hope to show
* Department of Interdisciplinary Research in Social Sciences and Humanities, “Alexandru
Ioan Cuza” University of Iaşi, Romania; email: [email protected]
87
Competing Arts: Medicine and Philosophy in Aristotle’s Protrepticus
that a closer analysis of the references to medicine in the Protrepticus can help
us better understand the purpose and intended audience of this Aristotelian
work.
Modern scholars tended to interpret the Protrepticus as a defense of the
Academic concept of philosophy and education against the critiques
mounted by Isocrates in the Antidosis (Einarson 1936, 273-276; Düring
1961, 33-35; 284-285; Hutchinson 1988, 48; Swancutt 2004, 139;
Hutchinson & Johnson 2010, passim; Collins 2015, 256-257). While not
necessarily disagreeing with this interpretation, my argument will move in a
different direction. In what follows, I propose to read the Protrepticus as a
polemical work directed not only against Isocrates’ criticism in the Antidosis,
but also against some statements made by authors of ancient medical
literature. I will argue that the Protrepticus staged an agon between two
competing arts (technai): philosophy and medicine. As it will become clear
bellow, one of Aristotle’s main aims was to establish the cognitive and
intellectual preeminence of philosophy over medicine.
To better evaluate and understand the polemical elements of the
Protrepticus, we should keep in mind that in fourth century B.C. Athens,
philosophers, physicians and teachers of other disciplines often engaged in
an intense competition for students, each of them trying to promote an art
(techne) over those of other competitors. It was this competing marketplace
of ideas that prompted authors from different disciplines to write and
deliver protreptic speeches, whose main function was to promote a certain
course of action, a practical skill, or, more generally, a way of life (Aune
1991, 91). If we take into consideration these facts we can understand why
Aristotle points so often to the existence of a plurality of arts, mentioning
philosophy, medicine, gymnastics, politics, and others. It seems that one of
Aristotle’s main purposes in writing the Protrepticus was to defend and argue
the preeminence of philosophy over such other competing technai.
Before delving into the analysis of those fragments of the Protrepticus in
which there is evidence of polemics against medicine, it is necessary to
mention the widespread interest in medical matters in the Greece of the
fourth century B.C. As Jaeger (1957, 55) has argued, in the time of
Plato and Aristotle, “the methods of medical procedure, like those of
mathematics, became the object of widespread interest even among
educated laymen.” There was a substantial public interest in medical
techniques and ancient philosophers often exploited this common interest
in medical matters for their ends (Carrick 2001, 21). When they “wished to
emphasize the peculiar tasks of the philosophical enterprise or instruct
others on the nuances of their own theories, the idiom and examples of
medicine often proved to be useful pedagogical tools” (Ibidem).
With regard to Aristotle’s use of medical matters, it is worth noting, with
Jaeger (1957, 55-56), that in the older Peripatetic school medicine was one
88
of the most respected and studied sciences. This fact occurred mostly
because of Aristotle’s great interest in medical matters.2 Aristotle, the son of
a physician himself, could thus have expected his audience’s familiarity with
the language and the specific aspects of medicine.
Even if the philosopher held more prestige than the physician in the
public’s mind, “the average Athenian [also] held in high regard the practical
applications of the medical craft” (Carrick 2001, 21-22). Physicians were
often regarded as experts in matters pertaining to human health, and, since
health was generally held as one of the highest goods, “physicians could
wield a considerable power and authority” (Ibidem). They were expected to
describe the conditions for a healthy and happy life and prescribe a regimen
or a diet to be followed by their adherents (Jaeger 1957, 60; Edelstein 1967,
360; Levin 2014, 1). Yet, defining the conditions of a happy life was
also the task of the philosopher. The fact that both physicians and
moral philosophers gave instructions on how to have a better life, resulted
in a competition between the two groups for moral and intellectual
authority.
Ancient sources attest to the efforts of several medical writers to present
medicine as the highest techne or as the single authoritative source of
knowledge about human nature. To provide but one relevant example, the
Hippocratic author of Ancient Medicine overtly argues in favor of the
cognitive preeminence of medicine in matters of human nature, health and
disease:
“Certain physicians and philosophers (τινες καὶ ἰητροὶ καὶ σοφισταί) assert that
nobody can know medicine who is ignorant what a man is. (…) But the
question they raise is one for philosophy; it is the province of those who, like
Empedocles, have written about nature – what man is from the beginning, how
he came into being at the first, and from what elements he was originally
constructed. But my view is, first, that all that philosophers or physicians (ἢ
σοφιστῇ ἢ ἰητρῷ) have said or written about nature (περὶ φύσιος) no more
pertains to medicine than to painting. I also hold that clear knowledge about
nature can be acquired from medicine and from no other source (περὶ φύσιος
γνῶναί τι σαφὲς οὐδαμόθεν ἄλλοθεν εἶναι ἢ ἐξ ἰητρικῆς), and that one can attain
this knowledge when medicine itself has been properly comprehended, but till
then it is quite impossible – I mean to possess this information, what man is, by
what causes he is made, and similar points accurately.” (De vet. med., 20, 1-17;
transl. by Jones 1957, 53)3
The above passage clearly indicates that the Hippocratic author mounted a
critique against philosophy, and actively rejected philosophical speculation
as a way to obtain real knowledge about human nature. He claimed that
medicine alone was the real art (techne) that could provide meaningful
insights into nature. By stating that there is no clear knowledge about nature
89
from any other source than medicine, the Hippocratic author implicitly
proclaimed the cognitive preeminence of medicine over philosophy.
Hippocratic physicians contrasted their methods to those used in
philosophical inquires into human nature. As the Hippocratic author
stresses, “medicine has long had all its means to hand, and has discovered
both a principle and a method (ἀρχὴ καὶ ὁδός), through which the
discoveries made during a long period are many and excellent” (De vet. med.,
2, 1-3, transl. by Jones 1957, 15). The method to be used in medicine is
that of observation (ἐμπειρία), not that of philosophical postulates or
hypotheses which lacked empirical basis. The author of the treatise on
Ancient Medicine overtly states that medicine has no need of empty postulate
(οὐκ ἠξίουν αὐτὴν ἔγωγε κενῆς ὑποθέσιος δεῖσθαι) (De vet. med., 1, 20-21).4
He further sets himself against anyone who attempts to “to conduct
research in any other way or after another fashion (ἑτέρῃ ὁδῷ καὶ ἑτέρῳ
σχήματι ἐπιχειρεῖ ζητεῖν)” (De vet. med., 2, 7). Thus, from the Hippocratic
author’s point of view, only the discoveries of medicine could be regarded
as the results of real investigations.5
Yet, as L. Dean-Jones rightly stressed, if it is true that “the status of
medicine increases in the fourth century to that of a techne par excellence”, it
is also important to note that increasingly open criticism of medicine
dates from the same period (Dean-Jones 2003, 98). More than others,
philosophers reacted to the self-positioning of the medicine at the pinnacle
of the technai.6 As the analysis below will show, Aristotle’s Protrepticus can be
interpreted as an attempt to establish philosophy not only as the preeminent
techne, but also as the most credible and authoritative guide for those in need
of a proper way of life. References to medical concepts and methods figure
highly in Aristotle’s endeavor to present philosophy as the activity most
worth engaging in. This may be regarded as a mark of a certain, though not
entirely overt, rivalry with medicine.
As pointed out by Longrigg (1993, 150), like Plato, Aristotle was “firmly
committed to the belief that the first principles of medicine should be
derived from general philosophical principles.” The speculative reasoning
professed by philosophers is thus regarded as necessary also in medical
theories about human nature. There is strong evidence in the Protrepticus that
Aristotle tried to set philosophical methods of inquiry in stark contrast to
the method recommended by the author of Ancient Medicine. Thus, in frgs
46-48, we find an approach clearly opposed to that described by the
Hippocratic author. The Aristotelian text reads: “All intelligent physicians
(τῶν ἰατρῶν ὅσοι κομψοί) and most experts in physical training agree that
those who are to be good physicians or trainers must have a general
knowledge of nature” (δεῖ τοὺς μέλλοντας ἀγαθοὺς ἰατροὺς ἔσεσθαι καὶ
γυμναστὰς περὶ φύσεως ἐμπείρους εἶναι). (Protr. frg. 46, transl. by Düring
90
1961, 67) This is because nobody “who has not practiced philosophy and
learned truth”, is able to “judge what is just, what is good, and what is
expedient.” These preliminary statements serve Aristotle to overtly proclaim
philosophy’s cognitive preeminence: “In the other arts (τῶν μὲν ἄλλων
τεχνῶν) men do not take their tools and their most accurate reasoning from
first principles (οὐκ ἀπ’ αὐτῶν τῶν πρώτων), and so attain something
approaching knowledge (σχεδὸν ἴσασιν); they take them at second or third
hand or at a distant remove, and base their reasoning on experience (ἐξ
ἐμπειρίας). The philosopher alone copies from that which is exact (ἀπ’
αὐτῶν τῶν ἀκριβῶν); for what he looks at is the exact itself, not copies «viz.
at second or third hand».” (frgs 47-48, transl. by Düring 1961, 69, slightly
modified).
Aristotle’s statements in the fragments quoted above may be seen as a
direct and polemical allusion to a few issues raised by the Hippocratic
author of Ancient Medicine. (Hutchinson 1988, 48-48) As we have seen, the
Hippocratic author sharply criticized the philosophers and physicians who
made use of speculative inquiry when discussing or writing about nature.
The same author also stated that “clear knowledge about nature can be
acquired from medicine and from no other source”, arguing thus in favor of
the cognitive authority of the techne of medicine. By contrast, Aristotle states
that those who lack philosophical insight can attain only something close to
knowledge (σχεδὸν ἴσασιν). As already mentioned, for Aristotle, the first
principles of any theoretical knowledge should be drawn from philosophy.
Instead, the physicians who neglect philosophy ground their alleged
knowledge of nature on mere experience (ἐξ ἐμπειρίας).7
It is worth noting that a similar outlook appears in Aristotle’s De sensu,
436a17-436b1. There, the philosopher states that it is the task of the natural
philosopher to inquire into the principles of health and disease (φυσικοῦ δὲ
καὶ περὶ ὑγιείας καὶ νόσου τὰς πρώτας ἰδεῖν ἀρχάς). In the same passage,
Aristotle notices that most natural philosophers as well as the physicians
who pursue their art more philosophically (τῶν περὶ φύσεως οἱ πλεῖστοι καὶ
τῶν ἰατρῶν οἱ φιλοσοφωτέρως τὴν τέχνην μετιόντες) have this in common:
while the former end up by studying medicine, the latter begin by grounding
their medical theories on the principles of natural philosophy. That
discussing the causes of health and disease is the task not only of the
physician but also of the natural philosopher is stated again by Aristotle in
De respiratione, 480b 22-30. Here too, medical and philosophical activities are
intertwined. Like in the Protrepticus, Aristotle argues that “those physicians
who have subtle and inquiring minds (τῶν τε γὰρ ἰατρῶν ὅσοι κομψοὶ καὶ
περίεργοι) have something to say about natural science and claim to derive
their principles thence (τὰς ἀρχὰς ἐκεῖθεν ἀξιοῦσι λαμβάνειν), and the most
accomplished of those who deal with natural science tend to end up
91
investigating medical principles.” (Translation from Longrigg 1993, 3)
Thus, it seems that, when arguing that medical research must be based on
philosophy, Aristotle manifests an outlook that anticipates Galen’s viewpoint
that the best physician must also be a philosopher.
Additional evidence of the dramatic contrast between the arguments in
Ancient Medicine and Aristotle’s conception of nature and knowledge is
provided in frgs 35-36 of the Protrepticus. Here, Aristotle argues that “it is far
more necessary to have knowledge of the causes and the elements than of
things posterior to them; for the latter are not among the highest realities,
and the first principles do not arise from them, but from and through the
first principles all other things manifestly proceed and are constituted”
(Protr. frg. 35, transl. by Düring 1961, 61). And Aristotle concludes:
“Whether it be fire or air or number or other natures that are the causes and
principles of other things, if we are ignorant of them we cannot know any
of the other things” (transl. by Düring 1961, 63). It is likely that these
fragments may also have been part of a polemic against the medical writers
who rejected and criticized philosophy.
In order to argue more convincingly the preeminence of philosophy over
medicine, Aristotle introduced in the Protrepticus a topos used in moral
philosophy, namely the soul-body distinction. The use of this topos in the
Protrepticus may be regarded as part of a broader polemical strategy directed
by Aristotle against a certain branch of medical thinkers. As I will indicate in
the following, Aristotle lays down the fundamental division between body
and soul, in order to provide new arguments for the preeminence of
philosophy among other technai.
To put it simply, for Aristotle, man consists of body and soul (Protr. frg.
23). In frg. 34, technai like medicine and gymnastics are introduced as points
of comparison in establishing philosophy’s task (ergon) and specificity. While
medicine and gymnastics are described as technai of the body, philosophy is
regarded as a techne of the soul. “Therefore if soul is better than body (being
by nature more able to command), and there are arts and sciences (τέχναι
καὶ φρονήσεις) concerned with the body, namely medicine and gymnastics
(ἰατρική τε καὶ γυμναστική) (…), clearly with regard to the soul too and its
virtues there is a care and an art (τις ἐπιμέλεια καὶ τέχνη), and we can
acquire it, since we can do this even with regard to things of which our
ignorance is greater and knowledge is harder to come by.” (Protr. frg. 34,
transl. by Düring 1961, 61)
As indicated in the passage above, Aristotle conceives of philosophy as a
soul-focused techne. Its ergon is to care for the health of the soul (Protr. frgs 2
and 4). By contrast, the scope of medicine pertains exclusively to bodily
health. As frg. 46 reads, physicians and experts in physical training “use
their skill only on the health and the strength of the body” (τῆς τοῦ
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σώματος ἀρετῆς εἰσι δημιουργοὶ μόνον). (Transl. by Düring 1961, 67,
slightly modified) Thus, while medicine aims at providing the health of the
body, the ergon of philosophy is to create a certain disposition of the soul.
Yet, according to the already mentioned frg. 23, the soul governs the
body: “man is by nature composed of soul and body, and soul is better than
body, and that which is inferior always is servant to that which is superior”
(Protr. frg. 23, transl. by Düring 1961, 57; The same point is made in frg.
59). Now, if the soul is better than body (cf. frg. 61: ψυχὴ μὲν σώματος
βέλτιον), it follows that the health and disposition of the soul will be of
greater importance than the health and state of the body. This statement
gives philosophy and medicine respectively different ranks in the hierarchy
of the technai. In other words, since medicine is a techne whose object is the
human body – an inferior element when compared to the soul – medicine
cannot be placed in the pinnacle of technai. It seems likely that by this
argument too Aristotle tried to establish the preeminence of philosophy
over medicine.
The primacy Aristotle grants to the soul supports his argument that
medicine cannot stand as the preeminent techne. The body-soul division is of
special importance to Aristotle in laying out the theoretical ground for his
description of philosophy as the highest and most worth engaging in
activity. The soul-body distinction thus provides additional and significant
evidence to support our reading of the Protrepticus as a polemical work
directed against the claims of intellectual and cognitive authority put
forward in the fifth and the fourth centuries B.C. by medical thinkers such
as the author of Ancient Medicine.
Aristotle’s efforts to establish philosophy as the preeminent human
endeavor acquires further visibility in the fragments in which he extols the
value of philosophical insight. For instance, frg. 65 states: “Health (ὑγίεια) is
the proper work of the doctor (ἰατρικοῦ), and safety that of the sea-captain.
Now we can name no better work of thought or of the thinking part of the
soul, than the attainment of truth. Truth therefore is the supreme work of
this part of the soul.” (Transl. by Düring 1961, 75) In a similar vein, in frg.
67 Aristotle indicates: “Now than philosophical insight (φρονήσεως), which
we maintain to be the faculty of the supreme element in us, there is nothing
more worthy of choice (οὐκ ἔστιν αἱρετώτερον οὐδέν), when one state «of
the soul» (ἕξις) is compared with another; for the cognitive part, whether
taken alone or in combination with other parts, is better than all the rest of
the soul, and its excellence is knowledge.” (Transl. by Düring 1961, 77)
For Aristotle, human eudaimonia cannot be attained just by taking care of
the body. Instead, it is necessary to cure and heal primarily the soul.
Therefore, philosophers alone are able to control both soul and body and to
prescribe right rules of conduct. This idea emerges in frg. 9, where Aristotle
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stresses that philosophy alone is the kind of knowledge that “uses reason
and envisages good as a whole”, comprising “right judgment and unerring
wisdom”, “commanding what ought to be done or not to be done.” (Protr.
frg. 9; translation by Düring 1961, 51) A similar view appears in frg. 39,
where Aristotle depicts the wise man as the right “standard” (κανών), or
“landmark” of what is good (ὅρος ἀκριβέστερος τῶν ἀγαθῶν; Protr. frg. 49.).
To Aristotle, the task of recommending the best way of life is one of the
philosopher’s duties. In writing the Protrepticus he was concerned to grant to
philosophy the status of an arbiter of the good life. Because of their lack of
philosophical grounding, the other arts, including medicine, fall short in
prescribing rules of general conduct. While the physician’s activity is
restricted to preserving or restoring bodily health, philosophers, by their
speculative inquiry can reach the true knowledge of what human nature
really is. It is not by chance that Aristotle insists so often in the Protrepticus
on the philosopher’s grasp of reality and supreme knowledge (Protr. frgs 9,
18-20, and 27). By constantly referring to the philosopher’s high speculative
activity, Aristotle suggests the physician’s inability to grasp the ultimate
truth about the nature of human beings. This is why, according to him, only
philosophy, as the supreme techne, can be the rightful arbiter of the best way
of live.
Conclusion
My aim here was to identify in Aristotle’s Protrepticus traces of a polemic
against medicine’s claims of being a techne of intellectual and cognitive
authority. The polemic against medicine in the Protrepticus should be
understood by paying attention to Aristotle’s contemporary intellectual
context. In the fourth century B.C. medicine had reached the status of a
highly esteemed techne, often regarded as providing regimen and rules of
conduct for healthy and happy living. Some of the medical authors also
rejected philosophical methods of inquiring into human nature and argued
for medicine’s cognitive and intellectual preeminence. The Protrepticus may
be interpreted as a critical refutation of some of these claims. Aristotle
polemicized with those medical writers and practitioners who rejected and
condemned any use of philosophical methods and concepts in medical
theories about human nature. The medical language in the Protrepticus is
particularly used in connection with this type of rigoristic medical writers.
There is good reason to assume that the Protrepticus was at least partially
directed against the type of physicians and medical writers who embraced
the views laid down in treatises such as Ancient Medicine. It is also likely that
those people would have recognized in the Protrepticus the polemical
allusions to their own theoretical statements.
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Notes
All references to the Protrepticus follow Düring’s edition and translation (1961).
Cf. van der Eijk 2005, 14: “Aristotle and his followers were well aware of earlier and
contemporary medical thought (Hippocratic Corpus, Diocles of Carystus) and readily
acknowledged the extent to which doctors contributed to the study of nature. This attitude
was reflected in the reception of medical ideas in their own research and in the interest they
took in the historical development of medicine.”
3 A similar point is made in the Hippocratic treatise De natura hominis, 1 (Loeb edition).
4 In the same treatise (De vet. med., 13, 1-3), the author argues against those who “prosecute
their researches in the art after the novel fashion, building on a postulate” (ἐξ ὑποθέσιος).
Cf. Ibidem, 15, 1-4.
5 See also Plato’s Symposium (186a-188e), where Eryximachus – a spokesman of the class of
the physicians and himself a practitioner of the medical art – extols the merits of the
medical techne. As pointed out by Levin (2014, 81-82), Eryximachus’ words may reflect the
position stated in some of the Hippocratic writings. For further discussion of the polemic
of medicine against philosophy in the fifth and fourth centuries, see Longrigg 1993, esp.
82-103.
6 See also Carrick 2001, 22, who points to the fact that for the fourth century B.C., “There
is little reason to doubt that on some occasions, at least, philosophers and physicians
competed for influence and authority before their public on moral matters relating to the
right way to live. (…) Mindful of this potential competition for influence between
physicians and philosophers on matters of personal conduct, philosophers from Plato and
Aristotle on sought to reassert the supremacy of their discipline as the only proper
authority on the ultimate questions of human value.”
7 As Frede (1985, XXIV) has rightly stressed, like Plato, “Aristotle quite firmly reject[s] the
idea that a science can be a matter of mere experience. A true art or science has to be based
on truly general knowledge, which only reason and not experience can provide us with.
However much our experience may suggest that something is quite generally true,
experience itself does not justify this assumption. Only reason can. Experience does not
give us any explanations but, at best, facts.” But see Hutchinson 1988, 50, n. 30, and
Longrigg 1993, 159.
1
2
References
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and Philosophical Propaganda.” In Martin Hengel & Ulrich Heckel (eds.), Paulus
und das antike Judentum. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck): 91-121.
Carrick, Paul. 2001. Medical Ethics in the Ancient World. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown
University Press.
Collins, James Henderson. 2015. Exhortations to Philosophy: The Protreptics of Plato, Isocrates, and
Aristotle. New-York: Oxford University Press.
Dean-Jones, Lesley. 2003. “Literacy and the Charlatan in Ancient Greek Medicine.” In
Harvey Yunis (ed.), Written Texts and the Rise of Literate Culture in Ancient Greece.
New-York: Cambridge University Press.
Düring, Ingemar. 1961. Aristotle’s Protrepticus: An Attempt at Reconstruction. Stockholm:
Almqvist & Wiksell.
Edelstein, Ludwig. 1967. “The Relation of Ancient Philosophy to Medicine.” In Ancient
Medicine. Selected Papers of Ludwig Edelstein, edited by Owsei Temkin &
C. Lilian Temkin. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press: 349-366 (first published
in Bulletin of the History of Medicine 26, 1952: 299-316).
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Einarson, Benedict. 1936. “Aristotle’s Protrepticus and the Structure of the Epinomis.”
Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 67: 261-285.
Frede, Michael. 1985. Galen, Three Treatises on the Nature of Science. Translated by Richard
Walzer and Michael Frede, with an Introduction by Michael Frede. Hackett
Publishing Company.
Hutchinson, D.S. 1988. “Doctrines of the Mean and the Debate Concerning Skills in
Fourth-Century Medicine, Rhetoric and Ethics.” Apeiron 21 (2): 17-52.
Hutchinson, D.S & Johnson, Monte Ransome. 2010. “The Antidosis of Isocrates and
Aristotle’s Protrepticus. Retrieved from: http://www.protrepticus.info/
antidosisprotrepticus.pdf.
Jaeger, Werner. 1957. “Aristotle’s Use of Medicine as Model of Method in His Ethics.” The
Journal of Hellenic Studies 77 (1): 54-61.
Johnson, Monte Ransome. 2012. “The Medical Background of Aristotle’s Theory of
Nature and Spontaneity.” Proceedings of the Boston Area Colloquium of Ancient
Philosophy 27 (1): 105-152.
Jones, W.H.S. 1957. Hippocrates, vol. I. London: William Heinemann (Loeb edition).
Jouanna, Jacques. 1984. “Rhétorique et Médecine dans la collection Hippocratique.
Contribution à l’histoire de la rhétorique au Ve siècle.” Revue des Études Grecques 97:
26-44.
Laskaris, Julie. 2002. The Art is Long: On the Sacred Disease and the Scientific Tradition. Leiden:
Brill.
Levin, Susan B. 2014. Plato’s Rivalry with Medicine: A Struggle and Its Dissolution. New-York:
Oxford University Press.
Lloyd, G.E.R. 1968. “The Role of Medical and Biological Analogies in Aristotle’s Ethics.”
Phronesis 13 (1): 68-83.
Longrigg, James. 1993. Greek Rational Medicine: Philosophy and Medicine from Alcmaeon to the
Alexandrians. London and New-York: Routledge.
Nussbaum, Martha C. 2009. The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics.
Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press.
Swancutt, Diana M. 2004. “Paraenesis in the Light of Protrepsis: Troubling the Typical
Dichotomy.” In Early Christian Paraenesis in Context. Edited by James Starr and
Troels Engberg-Pedersen: 113-153. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.
van der Eijk, Philip J. (ed.). 2005. Hippocrates in Context. Papers read at the XIth International
Hippocrates Colloquium, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, 27-31 August 2002. LeidenBoston: Brill.
96
Constantin Răchită
Constantin RĂCHITĂ *
The Translation and Interpretation
of Genesis 47, 31. The LXX Vocalization
of the Hebrew Text and Patristic Exegesis
Abstract: On the one hand, current biblical research focuses to identify the primary
meaning of the sacred text and, on the other, to understand how religious traditions have
consolidated, starting from its multiple interpretations. A great deal of the interpretation
differences originates from Antiquity, going way back to the first Greek and Latin
translations of the text. The reading of the Genesis 47, 31 in the translation and
interpretation tradition of Septuagint (LXX) was considered a vocalisation error of the
source text, which the Vulgate and the Masoretic Text (MT) do not retain it. However, the
text of Septuagint is cited in Hebrews 11, 21 and the manuscript versions of the Septuagint do
not present any significant differences compared to the choice of the Alexandrian
translator. The present study focuses on the analysis of ancient translations and
interpretations targeting the text of the Old Testament, as well as assessing new hypotheses
concerning the contextual understanding of the text.
Keywords: biblical translations, ancient exegesis, LXX, MT, biblical context, vocalisation
of the Hebrew text
The study of biblical texts today implies an effort of understanding the
contexts in which the first translations of the sacred text into ancient Greek
and Latin were made. The research in this direction has its own difficulties,
as most of the biblical books have an extremely varied history of
interpretation, starting from the vocalisation of the source text. Given the
fact that there was not until the medieval period that a marking system of
the double consonants and vocals in the initial biblical text existed and that
ancient translations were made starting from a consonantal text, problems
that arise due to different readings are often insurmountable.
Such a case is registered in the book of Genesis 47, 31, where most of
modern researchers consider that Greek-speaking translator of LXX have
erroneously vocalised the Hebrew text in the case of the consonantal root
mṭh, a noun that can be vocalised either maṭṭeh (“staff”) or miṭṭah (“bed”). If
the LXX translator chooses the first alternative, in the Tiberian vocalisation
we find the second option. The difference in reading between the
translation and its much later vocalised source is not easy to clarify because
Hebrews 11, 21 cites the Genesis text as it was translated in LXX and the
Department of Interdisciplinary Research in Social Sciences and Humanities, “Alexandru
*
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The Translation and Interpretation of Genesis 47, 31...
manuscripts of the Alexandrian translation does not present substantial
variations from its initial form. Some modern translations, who considered
it a vocalisation error and amended it according to the MT, still keep
different versions of the same text in the Old and in the New Testament.
1. Ancient Translations
Before analysing the ancient translations, a short summary of the biblical
context of the text needs to be provided. It is about a short narrative
episode, from chapter 47 of Genesis, lines 28-31, whose narrative function
seems to be that of a prologue for the events that describe the death and
burial of the patriarch Jacob (Gen 47, 29 – 48, 22). If up to this point the
biblical history of patriarchs has been interrupted by the events that mark
Joseph‟s ascension in Egypt1 with this introduction Jacob becomes again
and for a short moment the central character of the account. These lines
state the old age of the patriarch and consist of a short dialogue between
Jacob and Joseph where the father asks his son to bury him in Canaan, next
to his ancestors, as well as asking him to make an oath. After Joseph vows
that he will fulfil Jacob‟s wish, the consonantal Hebrew text describes a
gesture made by Jacob, short enough as to leave space for interpretations:
“And Israel bowed himself on head of the bed” (MT-Gen 47, 31b:
wayyistahu yisra’el ‘al- ros hammittah)2. The verb “to worship” is used in biblical
texts in order to express both deity veneration, as well as a bow through
which people from antiquity used to show their respect to a king or people
with a higher rank; the Hebraic word rosh has an extremely varied semantic
range, its meaning being unveiled only by the context in which it is used.
Yet, the most important problem is raised by the noun that was translated
using a genitive; spelled miṭṭāh (‫ ) ִמטָּה‬it has the meaning of “bed”, “sofa”,
“divan”, “resting bed” or “sickness bed” (BDB 2000, s.v. ‫) ִמטָּה‬, but spelled
matteh (‫ )מַ טֶּה‬it has a denotative meaning of “staff”, “rod”, “sceptre” and a
connotative meaning of “line”, “descent”, “tribe”, “family” (BDB 2000, s.v.
‫)מַ טֶּה‬. We are not certain whether in the third century BC bilingual
translators from the diaspora of Alexandria consulted another Hebrew text
or they have attributed to the same consonantal text a first interpretation
when they translated it through καὶ προσεκύνησεν Ισραηλ ἐπὶ τὸ ἄκρον τῆς
ῥάβδου αὐτοῦ3 (“And Israel did obeisance upon the top of his staff”). From
a strictly formal text analysis it appears that translators added, compared to
the preserved Hebrew text, the possessive αὐτοῦ. If we start from the
hypothesis that the Hebrew text was identical to the one of the MT, the
translation of LXX does not only preserves the ambiguity of the source
concerning the interpretation of other terms, but also raises a new problem,
that of the staff‟s owner, which can change the entire meaning of the text. If
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the staff belonged to Jacob, the old patriarch thanked God, leaning on his
staff; if the staff belonged to Joseph, the patriarch showed his respect in
front of his son‟s royal authority, in an Eastern manner. Modern grammars
of ancient Greek are very clear concerning the third person singular
possessive pronoun: with a non-reflexive meaning, when the possession
does not belong to the subject of the sentence, Attic Greek uses the
pronoun αὐτός, ἀυτή, αὐτόν; with a reflexive meaning, when the object
belongs to the subject of the sentence, Classical Greek uses the pronoun
ἑαυτοῦ, ἑαυτῆς (or its elided forms), most frequently placed in an attributive
position, between the article and the noun (Smyth 1920, 301). Seen through
the paradigm of the Greek language from the dialectal period, the staff
could not belong to Jacob, because it should have been marked reflexively
through the phrase τῆς ἑαυτοῦ ῥάβδου or τῆς αὑτοῦ ῥάβδου. And yet, in the
translation of the biblical text, there are numerous cases where these rules
are not respected, either because of the linguistic changes made in the koinē
Greek, either because of the translators‟ literalism, who kept the syntax of
the original. The same ambiguity is kept in the case of the expression
προσκυνεῖν ἐπί, that, formed with the accusative, was initially used to
indicate the place of the action, but that in the Hellenistic period and later
could also express the object of the action (Bortone 2010, 182-189). The
other Greek versions of the Antiquity, kept in manuscripts that picks-up on
Origen‟s Hexapla, are not of much help in decoding the LXX translation, as
Aquila and Symmachus vocalised the text according to the MT, and
Theodotion gives textually the LXX version (Field 1875, I, 67).
In the fourth century A.D., when Jerome revised the Latin texts of the
New Testament, using the Greek manuscripts, he kept the Old Testament
quote from the Hebrews 11, 21 as it was translated in the Old Latin versions:
Fide Iacob moriens singulis filiorum Ioseph benedixit et adoravit fastigium virgae eius
(“By faith Jacob, when dying, blessed each of the sons of Joseph and he
worshipped the top of his staff”). The old Latin translation keeps word for
word the Greek text from the LXX, and Jerome‟s Vulgate keeps it
unchanged4. Later, after he started the translation of the Old Testament
from Hebrew, Jerome noted the difference between the Greek text and the
Hebrew one and, considering that Alexandrian translators made a
vocalisation error, he translated the text from Gen 47, 31 according to the
meaning of the original text: adoravit Israhel Deum conversus ad lectuli caput
(“Israel worshipped God, turning at the head of the bed”). Through the
words he added in the translation, Deum and the participle conversus, Jerome
took the decision to restrict once and for all the interpretation possibilities
of both Hebrew and Greek texts. In his view, Jacob is worshiping God after
he turned towards the head of the bed. Jerome‟s thought was preserved in
two texts from Quaestiones Hebraicae in Genesim. In the first one, Jerome
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rejects the interpretation of some ancient commentators that he does not
mention, which claimed that Jacob is worshiping Joseph‟s staff. His
arguments were based on the Hebrew text and on the logical understanding
of the way in which an elder man from his period would act in this situation
(Qu. Hebr. Gen. XLVII, 31; PL 23, 1002 C-1003 A). What is more interesting
is that in the second text, Jerome reads the verse Gen 48, 2b (“And being
strengthened, he sat on his bed”) and wonders why the LXX translators
translated trough κλίνη the same term that with two verses above was
rendered through ῥάβδος (Qu. Hebr. Gen. XLVIII, 2; PL 23, 1003 B). For
this reason, Jerome assumed that LXX translators made a vocalisation error,
without taking into account the possibility of a deliberately different
vocalisation or its subsequent interpretations.
2. Patristic Exegesis
In Greek Patristics most of the interpretations of Gen 47, 31 are hesitant
when it comes to name the staff‟s owner, but most of them give the verb
προσκυνεῖν the meaning of “make a bow”, “bend down” in sign of respect
for a human being. For instance, Origen, while talking about the mentioned
verse (Hom. in Gen. XV, 4; PG 12, 243 C), says, in the translation of Rufinus
of Aquileia, that Jacob bows over Joseph‟s staff: Et qui adorauit super fastigium
virgae Ioseph, non erat Iacob, sed Israhel. (“And who worshipped over the top of
Joseph‟s staff was not Jacob, but Israel”). St. John Chrysostom gives the
text a similar interpretation when he says that the patriarch “shows respect
for Joseph by the bow” (διὰ τῆς προσκυνήσεως τὴν εἰς τὸν Ἰωσὴφ τιμὴν
ἐπιδεικνύμενον) (Hom. in Gen. LXVI, 2; PG 54, 567-568). The Christian
author motivates his choice by bringing into discussion two texts. First,
according to him, through Jacob‟s bow before his son the second
prophetical dream of Joseph was fulfilled (Gen 37, 9: “the sun and the
moon and eleven stars were doing obeisance to me”); the dream was
explained in biblical context as symbolising the entire family of the son who
arrived in Egypt. The second argument was the typological reading, made
on the fundament of the interpretation of Hebrews 11, 21, according to
which Jacob makes a bow before Joseph because he is a prophet and
forseen that it is from Joseph‟s offspring that Messiah will be born (ὁρᾷς
ὅτὶ καὶ τοῦτο αὐτὸ πίστει ἐποίει, προορῶν ὅτι βασιλικοῦ γένους γενήσεται ὁ
ἐκ τοῦ σπέρματος αὐτοῦ τεχθείς;). St. John Chrysostom does not say who is
the owner of the staff, but by mentioning the age of the patriarch we
suppose that he assigns it to Jacob. Theodoret of Cyrus is very clear in this
direction in Quaestiones in Genesim XLVII (Quaestio 109), where he interprets
the verse in the context of the following chapter, where we are informed
that Jacob was ill (Gen 48, 1) and had lost his strength (Gen 48, 2). In
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Theodore‟s view too, the bow is made before Joseph, in order to justify the
prophetic dream (τὸ τοῦ Ίωσὴφ ἐνύπνιον τὸ πέρας ἐδέξατο), however, not
to Joseph‟s object, but on the top of his own staff (PG 80, 213 A-B). An
interesting comment of this verse can be found at Diodorus of Tarsus (fr. in
Gen. XLVII, 31; PG 33, 1578 A), that deserves to be mentioned especially
for the summary of all the possible interpretations of the Greek text, but
also for mentioning the original text:
“Jacob had a staff, such as any old man. Whether Jacob himself being an old
man and immobile he grasped the top of Joseph‟s staff and kissed the part of
the staff that he had grasped, or Joseph, after having worshipped his father,
grasped the top of the staff, because he bowed down to the ground, he did not
say clear. Or, when Jacob had worshipped God, he grasped the top of the staff
because of the old age, just as David, when Solomon became king, gave thanks
on the bed, on which he was lying, and worshipped God.”
Diodorus brings into discussion the possibility that the subject of this verse
is not Jacob, because in the LXX translation Hebrew proper names are
often not declined, and leaving thus the possibility that Joseph may had
bowed to his father. Also, Diodorus mentions the Hebrew text that might
justify the vocalisation based on a similar text from 3 Kings 1, 47: καὶ
προσεκύνησεν ὁ βασιλεὺς ἐπὶ τὴν κοίτην αὐτοῦ (“And the king did obeisance
on his bed”).
If in the middle period of the Greek patristic the interpretations given to
verse Gen 47, 31 admit broadly Jacob‟s worship to Joseph, leaning on his
own staff, we notice that in late patristic the interpretation changes given to
the historical context. During the iconoclastic disputes, St. John of
Damascus and Pseudo-Athanasius understand that Jacob worships Joseph‟s
staff. Thus, pleading in favour of icon honouring, Pseudo-Athanasius says
that “just as Jacob, when he was dying, worshipped Joseph «at the top of his
staff», he did not honour the staff, but the one who had it, so we who are
faithful greet the icons for no other reason than the love for those to whom
we show it” (Qu. Ant. 39; PG 28, 621B). And, more explicitly, in an
allegorical reading that sees in Joseph‟s staff a prefiguration of the Cross, St.
John of Damascus says in De fide orthodoxa: “When Jacob worshipped the
top of Joseph's staff, was the first to image the Cross, and when he blessed
his sons with crossed hands he made most clearly the sign of the cross” (f.o.
IV, 11; PG 94, 1132 C). The interpretation that initially was avoided by
ecclesiastic writers, in order to avoid the understanding that Jacob practiced
idolatry, became in Late Patristic a strong argument in favour of honouring
the icons.
In Latin patristic, besides Jerome, the text was also interpreted by
Augustine (Qu. Hept. I, 162). He is the only author who explicitly raises the
problem of the possessive pronoun from LXX translation, inherited also in
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the numerous Latin versions from Antiquity5 under the forms of virgae eius
and virgae suae. Augustin‟s explanation is correct from the view of the Greek
grammatical rules and plausible, if we refer to the alterations made by the
copyists over time:
“For the Greek word deludes them, which is written with the same letters
whether it has „his‟ or „his own‟, but the accents are different, and by those who
know them in the manuscripts they are not disregarded. For they make great
difference. Yet it could also have had one more letter, if it had been „his own‟,
so that it had not been αὐτοῦ, but ἑαυτοῦ.” (PL 34, 592).
Augustine does not intend to narrow the possibilities of the text
interpretation. After he presents these hypotheses, among which that of the
staff as a symbol of the Cross, he mentions the Hebrew text, noting that the
LXX translation, even though it conveys another text, is as important as the
original in what concerns the meaning (PL 34, 593). It is the only ancient
text where there is the suggestion that Alexandrian translators might have
deliberately given other meanings to the biblical text (nec ideo tamen quod
Septuaginta interpretati sunt, nullum vel levem sensum habere putandum est), even
though, most certainly, Augustine refers to the multiple meanings of the
allegorical interpretation.
3. Hypothesis concerning the vocalisation according to biblical context
Obviously, patristic interpretations are influenced by the Old Testament‟s
text quotation in Hebrews 11, 216, where the text is used to convey another
meaning, specifically that of the new faith, confessed by the ancestors. We
are not sure how the author of Hebrews interpreted the text, but the
narrative analepsis, that determines him to mention first the blessing of
Joseph‟s sons from the next chapter and only after that Jacob‟s worship,
leads us to interpret that he made the connection between the two events
and that there is the possibility that he may not have literally read the
passage from Genesis 47, 31.
The meaning of the Old Testament‟s text should rather be find in the
principles that guided the Alexandrine translators in the third century in
vocalising the source text. Although there were issued many theories on this
subject, the problem remains unsolved even to this day. There was a
hypothesis according to which the vocalisation was made according to the
public reading of the biblical text (Barr 1990, 23; Tov 2015, 118), another
one according to which it was determined by the erudite study of the
Scripture (van der Kooij 1998, 121) and last but not least one that claimed
the vocalisation was made under the influence of the uncanonical biblical
literature (Schorch 2006, 46). In situations similar to Genesis 47, 31, where
102
the consonantal text allows for a double vocalisation, the choice of one
variant over the other was made depending on a series of considerations.
Given that the translation of the biblical books included in Septuaginta
present numerous modifications made on purpose, ranging from rewritings
of the source text and syntax modifications up to the point of noticeable
exegetical insertions even in the most literal translations, it is hard to believe
that translators made a vocalisation error, which was then doubled by a
possessive pronoun. In my opinion, we are rather dealing with the specific
character of Alexandrian translation, which assumes following the narrative
logic, of the theology flowing from the interpretation of the narration, but,
most of all, of the source text used in translation (Vorlage).
In Genesis 47, 31, the closest context that needs to be taken into
consideration is not the age or the health condition of the patriarch, but
Joseph‟s oath, for Jacob‟s prostration can be seen as a consequence of the
promise that his body will be buried in Canaan. If we are to consider the
fact that the narrative function of this text is that of resuming the history of
the patriarchs, interrupted by Joseph‟s story, then the context is placed
before the events that happened in Egypt. Most probably, our verse is
connected to the texts from Genesis 28, 11-22, which are not just
thematically related but also, textually. Following, we cite three verses from
the LXX translation:
“And he came upon a place and lay down there, for the sun had set. And he
took one of the stones of the place and put it at his head (πρὸς κεφαλῆς αὐτοῦ)
and lay down in that place. ... And Iakob rose in the morning, and he took the
stone that he had put down there at his head (πρὸς κεφαλῆς αὐτοῦ), and set it
up for a stele (στήλην) and poured oil on the top of it (ἐπὶ τὸ ἄκρον αὐτῆς). ...
And Iakob made a vow (εὐχὴν), saying: «If the Lord God should be with me
and should carefully guard me in this way that I go and should give me bread to
eat and clothing to put on and should bring me back to my father‟s house in
safety (ἀποστρέψῃ με μετὰ σωτηρίας εἰς τὸν οἶκον τοῦ πατρός μου), then the
Lord shall become god to me, and this stone, which I have set up for a stele,
shall be a divine house to me (ὁ λίθος οὗτος, ὃν ἔστησα στήλην, ἔσται μοι οἶκος
θεοῦ)...»”.
Jacob did not raise a prayer, as the term εὐχὴν might tempt us to translate it
according to its dominant meaning inthe LXX translation, but it is used in
this context as an equivalent for the Hebrew neder (“vow”, “votive
offering”). The last request made by Jacob in his vow, that of returning to
Canaan (without mentioning in what conditions), is fulfilled with Joseph‟s
oath from Genesis 47, 31. Besides, the other conditions of the vow were also
fulfilled by Joseph, seen probably by the biblical author as an instrument of
divine will. Consequently, the patriarch respects his promise and worships
God. The Hebrew expression al-rosh hammittah (“on head of the bed”) must
103
not be understood as „a headboard‟, as the beds of ancient Israelites did not
have a head, but it rather makes reference to the stone that Jacob put under
his head in Gen 28, 11 and that later became an worshiping altar in Gen 28,
22. This interpretation seems to be sustained by a Jewish translation into
Greek, made in the fifth century A.D., found on the edge of a manuscript
(S.P. 51) discovered in the Ambrosian Library of Milan.7 The translation
included by Field in his edition of the hexaplaric fragments (even if it was
made much later), noted with the generic name τὸ Ιουδαϊκόν, gave for
Genesis 47, 31 the translation καὶ προσεκύνησεν Ισραηλ ἐπὶ προσκεφάλαιον
τῆς κλίνης αὐτοῦ (“and Israel bowed on the cushion of his bed”), suggesting
that the place where Jacob worshipped was actually the stone he put under
his head and which later became God‟s shrine.
Probably, the LXX translator of Genesis knew this interpretation and it is
also possible that in the text of Genesis 47, 31 he might have met another
Hebrew term that mentioned the fact that Jacob worshiped on the top of
the stone raised as a commemorative monument8, as he already translated it
in chapter 28, 18 (καὶ ἔστησεν αὐτὸν στήλην καὶ ἐπέχεεν ἔλαιον ἐπὶ τὸ ἄκρον
αὐτῆς). This interpretation is known by the first Latin translators as well,
who translated the term ἄκρον through fastigium, frequently used in Latin
texts in order to make reference at the pediment of a temple or of a
commemorative monument.9 Although ancient Greek translations prove
that in the first centuries the Hebrew text assumed the vocalisation of the
consonantal root mṭh, we are not certain whether the Alexandrine translator
uses the term matteh as an equivalent for ῥάβδος. In Pentateuch there are no
less than four Hebrew terms translated through ῥάβδος (Hatch-Redpath
1897, II, 1247). The Hebrew equivalent of στήλη is maṣṣebah (‫) ַמצ ָּ ֵָּ֑בה‬, a
derivative whose verbal root is the same as that of the term sebeṭ (‫שבֶּט‬
ֵּ ),
which in Hebrew has the same meaning as matteh (‫ ) ַמטֶּה‬and is translated
through ῥάβδος in Ex 21, 20 and Lv 27, 32. If we consider the recent
studies that argued the fact that Alexandrian translators vocalised
sometimes the terms starting from their verbal root or even from a part of
this root (Tov 2006, 461-463), the possibility of an etymological translation
(a common method to all ancient translators) in Genesis 47, 31 starting from
the verbal root of maṣṣebah is not excluded. The presence of the possessive
pronoun αὐτοῦ would be justified here by the idea of possession expressed
in Gen 28, 22: ὁ λίθος οὗτος, ὃν ἔστησα στήλην, ἔσται μοι οἶκος θεοῦ (“this
stone, which I have set up for a stele, shall be a divine house to me”).
A second possibility would be that of the intentional change the values
of the source text in translation, in order to avoid an act considered at that
time an act of idolatry. Anyway, even in this interpretation, the translation
speaks most probably about a worship to God and not a prostration before
Joseph. It is hard to believe that translators would replace an act perceived
104
as idolatry with another one that, if at the time of the translation was not yet
perceived this way10, is still far from the significations it has in its
correspondent context.
4. Conclusions
Considering that biblical manuscripts do not indicate important textual
variations and the consonantal term was indeed mth, it is difficult to point
with precision whether the different vocalisation of Septuagint is based on an
analogy according to the exegesis, a text corruption or it is determined by a
symbolism of the staff which existed in ancient traditions of Judaism11.
However, in my opinion, regarding the translation and interpretation of
Genesis 47, 31 there is no such thing as ignorance of the translator or a
reverential act towards Joseph. Moreover, seen from a contextual
perspective, both the source text and the translation refer to the same thing:
the patriarch Jacob is worshiping on the top of a stone, which became a
shrine, according to a belief common to many ancient peoples.
Notes
For more details concerning this narrative structure and its motivation, see Westermann
1992, 244-245.
2 Texts cited from Hebrew are transliterated according to Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia, ed. by
K. Elliger and W. Rudolph, German Bible Society, Stuttgart, 1967/1977. The English
translations are read from NRSV (David M. Carr, trans., ”Genesis”, in The New Oxford
Annotated Bible. New Revised Standard Version Bible with the Apocrypha, ed. by Michael Coogan
et al., 4th edition, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2010).
3 Biblical texts in the Greek translation of Septuagint follow the Rahlfs‟ edition (Septuaginta.
Id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes, ed. by Alfred Rahlfs and Robert
Hanhart, Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, Stuttgart, 1979). The English translations were cited
from NETS (Robert J.V. Hiebert, trans., ”Genesis”, in A New English Translation of the
Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations Traditionally Included under That Title, ed. by Albert
Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2007).
4 Latin biblical texts are quoted from Biblia Sacra Vulgata. Editio Quinta, ed. by R. Weber and
Roger Gryson, 5th edition, German Bible Society, Stuttgart, 2007.
5 Before the Vulgate translation, Latin biblical texts already knew a multitude of versions,
which circulated in parallel in different geographical areas of the Western world.
Generically put under the name of Veteres Latinae, these texts do not represent anything
else than some constant revisions, made over time by anonymous authors, of the first Latin
biblical translations. The emendation reasons were either to make them conform with the
Greek biblical texts, either to stylistically adapt them to a sufficiently evolved Latin that
allows the replacement of the outdated terms and grammatical constructions. See E.
Würthwein 1995, 92; J.T. Barrera 1998, 349-350; B.M. Metzger 2001, 23.
6 For Christian authors the LXX translation is inspired and constitutes the text of the Old
Testament. The Hebrew text is seldom consulted, and often it is done through the Greek
literal translations (e.g. Aquila‟s version). The conception according to which the Old
Testament has the role of talking about Christ and His mysteries determines them to read it
1
105
allegorically and interpret it through the reading key of the New Testament writings (Harl
1994, 294; 298).
7 Some information regarding the Greek revision can be found in N.F. Marcos 2000,
175-176.
8 For details concerning the Canaanite custom and its mention in biblical texts, see the
article signed by Jennie R. Ebeling in Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible, ed. by David Noel
Freedman et al., William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, Michigan, 2000, s.v. „pillar‟.
9 Ch. Daremberg et alii, Dictionnaire des Antiquités Grecques et Romaines, tome deuxième,
deuxième partie (F-G), Paris, Librairie Hachette et Cie, 1877, s.v. fastigium.
10 The oriental custom of prostration before other persons considered superior appears
frequently in Genesis (33, 3; 42, 6; 43, 26). Later, this practice would be considered
humiliating (see Esther 3, 1-6) and even an act of idolatry.
11 The modern researchers have already talked about these possibilities (M. Silva 1992,
147-165; G.A. Walser 2013, 262-341) and their well-argued hypotheses are valid as long as
we do not know for certain the manner in which LXX translators understood the text.
References
Barr, James. 1990. “Guessing in the Septuagint”. In Studien zur Septuaginta – Robert Hanhart zu
Ehren (ed. D. Fraenkel et al.). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht (MSU 20).
Barrera, Julio Trebolle. 1998. The Jewish Bible and the Christian Bible. An Introduction to the
History of the Bible, translated by Wilfred G.E. Watson. Leiden: Brill.
Bortone, Pietro. 2010. Greek Prepositions from Antiquity to the Present. Oxford: Oxford
University Press
Harl, Marguerite. 1994. La Bible grecque des Septante. Du judaïsme hellénistique au christiannisme
ancien. Paris: Éditions du Cerf.
Marcos, Natalio Fernandez. 2000. The Septuagint in Context. Introduction to the Greek Version of
the Bible, translated by Wilfred G.E. Watson. Leiden: Brill
Metzger, Bruce M. 2001. The Bible in Translation. Ancient and English Versions. Michigan:
Baker Academic
Schorch, Stefan. 2006. “The Septuagint and the Vocalization of the Hebrew Text of the
Torah”. In XII Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate
Studies, Leiden, 2004 (ed. Melvin K.H. Peters). Leiden: Brill
Silva, Moises. 1992. “The New Testament Use of the Old Testament: Text Form and
Authority”. In Scripture aud Truth (eds. D. A. Carson and J. W. Woodbridge).
Grand Rapids: Baker Publishing Group
Smyth, Herbert W. 1920. A Greek Grammar for Colleges. New York: American Book
Company
Tov, Emanuel. 2006. “Biliteral Exegesis of Hebrew Roots in the Septuagint? ,” in Reflection
and Refraction (ed. R. Rezetko et al.), Leiden: Brill (VTSup 113)
Tov, Emanuel. 2015. The Text-Critical Use of the Septuagint in Biblical Research, 3th edition.
Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns
van der Kooij, Arie. 1998. The Oracle of Tyre: The Septuagint of Isaiah XXIII as Version and
Vision. Leiden: Brill (VTSup 71)
Walser, Georg A. 2013. Old Testament Quotations in Hebrews. Studies in their Textual and
Contextual Background. Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck
Westermann, Claus. 1992. Genesis: An Introduction, translated by John J. Scullion.
Minneapolis: Fortress Press
Würthwein, Ernst. 1995. The Text of the Old Testament. An Introduction to the Biblia Hebraica, 2th
edition, translated by Erroll F. Rhodes. Michigan: Eerdmans.
106
Fănel Şuteu
Fănel ŞUTEU *
Pauline superlatives in the horizon
of Romanian biblical translations: polymorphic
valencies of the preposition ὑπέρ (hyper)
Abstract: Considered the founder of Christianity (N.T. Wright) and the one who
crossed the Judaism boundary laying the foundation of Universalism (Alain
Badiou) – Paul – was furthermore an innovator in matter of New Testament
biblical language. There are in The New Testament 29 combinations based on
verbal particle ὑπέρ (J.F. Conley). Out of them, 19 pertain to Paul. What degree of
originality did the Apostol have? We will observe the trajectory of the preposition
ὑπέρ from meanings to super meanings, obtained through composition with other
words that emphasizes biblical superlative. At the same time, we will provide
different Romanian translation versions for a certain Pauline text (Philippians 2:9),
in order to detect which translator was closer to the original lection. So, which is
the most correct translating version? Is the age-old formula traduttore / tradittore
applicable to the translators of sacred texts?
Keywords: Bible, Paul, superlative, hyper-, hyperypsoó, „prea-” / over-
Problematization
Superlative drags along the exclamation mark (Jackelén 2014, 63), and it
implies question mark. Without them, life would be like a paper flag. Italian
philosopher Battista Mondin said that “man is, by definition «a rational
being», and to rationalize means wondering about the causes of the things.”
(Mondin 2008, 37) Romanian philosopher Constantin Noica confessed
during last century: “I live the moment when this extremely deep question
can be asked: «What can be done when there is nothing to be done?» […]
And I reason upon the only issue that can be reasoned now, question issue.
Starting from it the world can revive. What about mine?” (Noica 1991,
166-67).
He solved the question issue, asking a question. Since question of
question is the only exclamation mark that lasts. Whereas we – the social
survivors crossing the postmodernism have deliberated and (down) rated
wondering, astonishment, as we omitted the question. Hence the lack of
*
107
Pauline superlatives in the horizon of Romanian biblical translations...
miracles1 or their falsification during contemporaneity. As “miracle” we can
name an unusual event in which a source out of Nature is involved. C.S.
Lewis states: “I use the word Miracle to mean an interference with Nature
by supernatural power.” (Lewis 2012, 12; webogr.: [C.S.L.]). We named
technological accessories as miracles and facing the development of the
functional big Mammoth we started wondering; is there any link between
our attitude and the third verse from Revelation 132? For example: the idea
of over product generated the occurrence of supermarkets that facilitated the
emergence of hypermarkets. And beyond these, what else do we have?
Hyperfunctionality “extra muros” and hyper convenience (Baudrillard 1994, 75-8).
I propose for analysis this topic that deals with Pauline superlatives in the
horizon of Romanian biblical translations, insisting upon polymorphic valencies of
preposition ὑπέρ (hyper). We will appeal to a three folded details of the theme:
(1) terminological, (2) analytical (case study sticking on the text from Paul’s
Epistle to the Philippians, second chapter verse 9) and (3) stylistic.
I have to specify that the translation into English of archaisms or of texts
belonging to certain Romanian versions of Bible older that a century is
indicative, keeping primarily their meaning3
1. Terminological details
1.1. About preposition ὑπέρ [hyper]
According to Thayer’s Lexicon, hyper particle has more meanings, described
below:
 (I.) with the genitive: (1) properly: “over, above, beyond, across”;
(2) equivalent to Latin pro (“for”): “to be for one” (one’s safety, for one’s
advantage or benefit); (3) “in the place of, instead of”; (4) “on account
of, for the sake of”; (5) Like the Latin super (“under”): “concerning, of, as
respects, with regard to”; (6) In the N.T. manuscripts the prepositions
ὑπέρ [hyper] and περί [peri] are confounded;
 (II.) with the accusative: (1) properly, of the place “over” or “beyond”; (2)
metaphorically, of the measure or degree exceeded as: “more than,
above, beyond, than”;
 (III.) in Composition: (1) “over, above, beyond”: ὑπεράνω [hyperano],
ὑπερέκεινα [hyperekeina], ὑπερεκτείνω [hyperekteino]; (2) with sense of
excess of measure: “more than”: ὑπερεκπερισσοῦ [hyperekperissou],
ὑπερνικάω [hypernikao]; with sense of aid: “for; in defense of” (Thayer
1889, 638-9).
1.2. Particle ὑπέρ [hyper] in Ancient Greek literature
Virtual platform from Tufts University – Perseus Digital Library (See
webogr.: [TUFTS]), offers almost 400 ancient works in which hyper
108
Fănel Şuteu
preposition has been used. The term occurs in NT 149 times, while at
ancient authors such as Aristide it occurs 661 times (Orationes), 572 times in
Polybius case (Histories) and 379 times in Josephus case (Antiquities of the
Jews) etc. In this classification, New Testament ranks as the 23rd (see below
table no. 1):
Table no. 1
No.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Words
298102
311666
284417
83898
399409
305870
146389
112327
288825
177900
218450
70422
72248
192194
224591
103320
46047
125221
116927
39040
78707
59780
137783
Max.
661
572
528
439
387
379
267
265
259
243
238
221
202
197
193
188
182
169
167
162
152
151
149
Min.
655
572
528
437
387
370
267
265
256
241
238
221
202
197
193
188
182
167
167
162
152
151
149
Corpus Name
Aristides, Aelius, Orationes
Polybius, Histories
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Antiquitates Romanae, Books I-XX
Philostratus the Athenian, Vita Apollonii
Cassius Dio Cocceianus, Historiae Romanae
Flavius Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae
Basil, Saint, Bishop of Caesarea, Epistulae
Isocrates, Speeches
Strabo, Geography
Dio Chrysostom, Orationes
Pausanias, Description of Greece
Demosthenes, Speeches 11-20
Demosthenes, Speeches 21-30
Diodorus Siculus, Library
Procopius, de Bellis
Aelian, De Natura Animalium
Philostratus the Athenian, Vitae Sophistarum
Flavius Josephus, De bello Judaico libri vii
Appian, The Civil Wars
Harpocration, Valerius, Lexicon in decem oratores Atticos
Arrian, Anabasis
Lysias, Speeches
New Testament
1.3. Preposition ὑπέρ [hyper] in the New Testament
According to the above table, frequency of hyper term in New Testament is
one word each 935 words. From statistical table of Felix Just dated 2005
(See webogr.: [S.J.F.J.]) and from George V. Wigram work, Englishman
Concordance of the New Testament (1885) we observe that: Gospels and Acts of
the Apostles contain 31 hyper prepositions out of 83.217 words (1/2.684),
the other authors of NT use 17 times the word hyper among 22.396 words
109
(1/1.317), while Paul appeal to this word abundantly: 101 occurrences for
32.407 word (1/321)! We offer this data in this diagram.
1.4. Preposition ὑπέρ [hyper] in Composition-terms of Pauline epistles
Considered the founder of Christianity (N.T. Wright) and the one who
crossed the Judaism boundary laying the foundation of Universalism (Alain
Badiou) – Paul – was furthermore an innovator in matter of New
Testament biblical language. There are in The New Testament 29
combinations based on verbal particle ὑπέρ (Conley 2009, 47), out of which
19 belong to Pavel (Sauer 2009, 81). We offer as example the terms, in the
table no. 2. Columns indicate: current number (N.), Term / Expression (Term
/ Expr.), Part of Speech (P.S.), Bible References, Text / Signification in KJV Bible,
Occurrences (Oc.) (see table no. 2).
2. Analytical details. Case study upon the text from Philippians 2:9
2.1. Textual analysis upon Philippians 2:9
The verb ὑπερυψόω (hyperupsoó) is used by Paul in his epistle to the
Philippians as follows: Θεὸς αὐτὸν ὑπερύψωσεν [Theos auton hyperupsōsen],
“God highly exalted him” (2:9). We provide a concise textual critique of the
passage (see table no. 3).
The Pronoun αὐτὸν refers to a man, identified in Paul’s text with Christ
(v. 5); the verb ὑπερύψωσεν – “highly exalted” – occurs at aorist tense (term
αόριστος, in Ancient Greek means “indefinite” [at A. Meillet, the aorist
indicate “the process pure and simple without consideration of duration.”
(Meillet in Binnick 1991, 165]), referring to Resurrection and Ascension.
The term ὑπερυψόω (hyperypsoó) is made up from prepositional prefix ὑπερ
(hyper), “beyond”, and the verb ὑψόω (hypsoó), “elevate”. The meaning of the
110
Fănel Şuteu
term would be: “elevate beyond”, “make exceedingly high”, “exalt to the
highest place” or “elevate exceedingly” (Souter) (See webogr.: [HELPSTM II]).
Table no. 2
N. Term / Expr. P. S.
Bible References
Text / Signification
Oc.
ὑπεραίρωμαι /
1 ὑπεραίρω
Vb.
2 Cor 12:7; 2 Thes 2:4
3
[I] should be exalted above measure
ὑπέρακμος /
2 ὑπέρακμος
Adj. 1 Cor 7:36
1
[she] pass the flower of [her] age
Eph 1:21; 4:10;
3 ὑπεράνω
Adv.
3
ὑπεράνω / [ascended up] far above all
Heb 9:5
4 ὑπεραυξάνω
Vb.
2 Thes 1:3
1
ὑπεραυξάνει / groweth exceedingly
5 ὑπερβαίνω
Vb.
1 Thes 4:6
1
ὑπερβαίνειν / [man] go beyond
6 ὑπερβαλλόντως Adv. 2 Cor 11:23
1
ὑπερβαλλόντως / above measure
2 Cor 3:10, 9:14;
ὑπερβάλλον /
7 ὑπερβάλλω
Vb.
5
Eph 1:19, 2:7, 3:19
[is] the exceeding [greatness]
Rom 7:13; 1 Cor 12:31; ὑπερβολὴ /
Noun
8
ὑπερβολὴ
2 Cor 1:8; 4:7, 17; 12:7 the excellency [of the power]
8
ὑπερβολὴ(ν) εἰς
ὑπερβολὴν εἰς ὑπερβολὴν /
Expr. 2 Cor 4:17
1
surpassing to excessiveness
ὑπερβολὴν
9 ὑπερέκεινα
Adv. 2 Cor 10:16
1
ὑπερέκεινα / the [regions] beyond
εἰς ὑμᾶς ὑπερεκτείνομεν ἑαυτούς ἄχρι /
10 ὑπερεκτείνω
Vb.
2 Cor 10:14
1
ourselves beyond [our measure]
11 ὑπερεντυγχάνω Vb.
Rom 8:26
1
ὑπερεντυγχάνει / maketh intercession
Rom 13:1; Phil 2:3; 3:8; διὰ τὸ ὑπερέχον τῆς γνώσεως /
12 ὑπερέχω
Vb.
4
4:7
for the excellency of the knowledge
13 ὑπερήφανος
Adj. Rom 1:30; 2 Tim 3:2 ὑπερηφάνους / arrogant
2
ὑπερνικῶμεν /
14 ὑπερνικάω
Vb.
Rom 8:37
1
we are more than conquerors
15 ὑπεροχή
Noun 1 Cor 2:1; 1 Tim 2:2
2
ὑπεροχὴν / excellency
ὑπερεπερίσσευσεν /
16 ὑπερπερισσεύω Vb.
Rom 5:20; 2 Cor 7:4
2
did much more abound
ὑπερεπλεόνασεν /
17 ὑπερπλεονάζω Vb.
1 Tim 1:14
1
was exceeding abundant
18 ὑπερυψόω
Vb.
Phil 2:9
1
ὑπερύψωσεν / hath highly exalted
19 ὑπερφρονέω
Vb.
Rom 12:3
1
ὑπερφρονεῖν / highly
Table no. 3
Strong’s
2316
Greek
Θεὸς
Transliteration
Theos
846
αὐτὸν
auton
5251
ὑπερύψωσεν
hyperupsōsen
English
God
Morphology
Noun. Nom. Masc. Sg.
Pers. / Pos. Pron. Acc.
him
Masc. 3rd Pers. Sg.
Vb. Aor. Ind. Act. 3rd
highly exalted
Pers. Sg.
111
What meanings might involve hyperypsoo term?
 (1) “To elevate beyond” from exterior, physical point of view (Jesus was
lifted up on the cross, Jn 3:14);
 (2) “To elevate beyond” from interior, mental, spiritual point of view
(Zechariah’s Song states that God “exalts” the humble people, Lk 1:52);
 (3) “To elevate beyond” superior, supernatural, super-physical point of
view (Jesus was taken up into heaven, Acts 2:33 / Mk 16:19).
What does this expression: “highly exalted” mean in the text from
Philippians 2:9?
Some biblical commentators, including Romanian theologian Dumitru
Stăniloae, support the idea that “crucifixion is the first ascension” (Bucuroiu
1993, 163). Others however, like Charles Ellicott, Alexander Maclaren,
Albert Barnes etc. regard Christ’s exaltation as Ascension to the right hand
of God. Erich Sauer will continue same idea: “God did not simply «exalt» or
«highly exalt» Jesus, but that He «super-exalted» Him (Gk. hyperhypsosen). All
other exaltation is nothing compared to His exaltation. All mountains are
but plains compared with the summit of this high mountain range to which
God has «hyperexalted» Jesus.” (Sauer 2009, 27).
2.2. Source criticism on Philippians 2:9
The critique of the sources confirms that the term hyperupsōsen is correctly
transcribed from original. We observe in the below image four examples of
old manuscripts, mentioning the studied text. In Codex Sinaiticus (cent. IV),
Codex Vaticanus (cent. IV), Codex Alexandrinus (cent. V) and Codex
Boernerianus (cent. IX), we read same biblical text: Theos (in manuscripts
same term is abbreviated: Θ+c)4 auton hyperupsōsen. The only this is that the
manuscript from Switzerland of IX century also contains a Latin interlinear:
we observe the text that contains the words of Vulgata: Deus illum exaltavit.
These textual details are confirmed by Apparatus criticus from GNT-NA
27th edition (Nestle-Aland 2007, 675).
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2.3. Philippians 2:9 in Romanian translations
We provide a bilingual variant RO / EN for ten cases of translation in
Romanian versions. The passage from Pauline text is presented in this
manner (table no. 4):
Table no. 4
No. Translation
Year Passage
„Dumnezău pre Elu-L preînălţă” /
1 N.T. from Bălgrad (Alba Iulia) 1648
“God hath over exalted Hine”
„Dumnezău pre El preînălţă” /
2 [Bible Version] Cantacuzino
1688
“God hath over exalted Him”
[B.V.] from Blaj
1795
„Dumnezeu pre Dânsul L-au preaînălţat” /
3 New Testament from Smirna 1838
“God did over exalt Him”
[B.V.] Holy Synod
1914
„Dumneḑeu l’a pré-înălţatu” /
4 [B.V.] from Pesta
1873
“God hath over exalted Him”
[B.V.] Cornilescu
1921 „Dumnezeu L-a înălţat nespus de mult” /
5
[B.V.] New Translation
2006 “God has exalted Him unspeakable high”
[B.V.] Radu & Galaction /
1939
„Dumnezeu L-a preaînălţat” /
6 [B.V.] Bartolomeu Anania /
2001
“God has over exalted Him”
[B.V.] Interconfessional
2010
„L-a şi înălţat Dumnezeu” /
7 New Testament [V.] E. Pascal 1975
“God also exalted Him”
[B.V.] Nitzulescu
1897 „Dumnezeu L-a înălţat foarte sus” /
8
[B.V.] New Literal
2001 “God has highly exalted Him”
„Dumnezeu L-a înălţat” /
9 [B.V.] Roman Catholic
2013
“God exalted Him”
„Dumnezeu I-a acordat cea mai mare onoare” /
10 [B.V.] Updated
2015
“God granted Him the highest honor”
3. Stylistic details
To justify the title of our topic, we have to clarify which is the aim of the
usage of superlative in Scriptures and especially superlative of expression,
obtained by the means of prefix derivation.
3.1. Via triplex and knowledge of God
There are, according to Dionysius the Areopagite (De divinis Nominibus, VII,
3), three „ways of investigating the supreme mysteries of knowledge”
(Chiţescu, Todoran and Petreuţă 2004, 266), surnamed as via triplex:
 Affirmation way (via affirmationis),
 Eminence way (via eminentiae) and
 Negation way (via negationis) (Yannaras 2005, 61).
The three ways – at Dionysius the Areopagite – imply three phases: removal
(via negationis), affirmation (via affirmationis) and transcendence (via eminentiae)
(Mondin 2008, 220). Hegel states that via affirmationis determines and
113
involves via negationis. Here we meet docta ignorantia – “learned ignorance”
(Heft 2008, 212). Via eminentiae is also called “superlative way” (Chiţescu,
Todoran and Petreuţă 2004, 266). In the biblical texts there is a need of
superlative. Why “superlative”?
3.1.1. Philo and via affirmationis
Given that “God is transcendent at all levels” – as Philo states; it refers to
“ontological, gnoseological and semantic” level (Mondin 2008, 210). God
“is better than the good, more venerable than the monad, purer than the
unit.”, he states (Praem, 40: Frick 1999, 65). God is “neither this one, nor
that one, but” He is “totally Other, the Ineffable and Inconceivable” (Mondin 2008,
211; Ranocchia 2008, 78).
3.1.2. Plotinus and via negationis
Plotinus supported what latter has been called “apophatic theology”. We
offer a passage from 6th Ennead (6.9.7.): ”Our thought cannot grasp the One
as long as any other image remains active in the soul…To this end, you
must set free your soul from all outward things and turn wholly within
yourself, with no more leaning to what lies outside, and lay your mind bare
of ideal forms, as before of the objects of sense, and forget even yourself,
and so come within sight of that One.” (Lander 2014, 39)
Plotinus stated that “the One does not have an essence in the way that
anything else has an essence” (Gerson 2010, 13) and that He is beyond
substance, being, knowledge, quantity and quality (Mondin 2008, 211).
Dodds emphasized the following aspects: “Read the second part of the
Parmenides as Plotinus read it, with the single eye of faith; no not look for
satire on the Megarians or on anybody else; and you will find in the first
hypothesis a lucid exposition of the famous «negative theology».” (Dodds
1928, 133).
3.1.3. Thomas Aquinas and via eminentiae
Thomas Aquinas promoted especially via eminentiae, that can be reached
through via negationis (Mondin 2008, 223): “removing fleshly… intellectual
aspects… ignorance darkness remains only…” (In I Sententiarum, d. 8, q. 1, a.
1, ad. 4); then through via affirmationis: „at the end… We know God as
unknown… and, although He remains unbeknown, we still know He
exists.” (In Boethii De Trinitate, I, q. 1, a. 2, ad. 1). Finally, Thomas mentions:
“What is said about God has to be understood always by eminence,
removing all that belongs to perfection” (In I Sententiarum, d. 35, q. 1, a. 1,
ad. 5). In this last phrase, logic-linguistic expressions that describe God have
to be discovered:
 adjectives at superlative: “wisest”, “the most powerful”, “the best”,
 adverbs: “the most wise way”, “excellently”,
 prefixoids (over-, super-): “overgood”, “over-powerful”, “superintelligent”
etc. (Mondin 2008, 224)
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3.2. Superlatives’ creation
3.2.1. Was Pauline proceeding innovative or not?
3.2.1.1. Superlative obtained through overlapping
Eugen Munteanu grasps the fact that Hebrew superlative is obtained
through the overlapping structure “name + same name in Genitive case”;
hence Hebrew collocation šiyr haširiym, “the song of songs” (Munteanu
1995, 53).
The expression qō-ḏeš qā-ḏā-šîm follows same pattern that in Greek reads
as ἅγιον ἁγίων [agion agion] (LXX, Daniel 9:24), in Latin sanctum sanctorum, in
Slavic světaję světichŭ, while in Romanian it appears as sfântu a sfinţilor, sfânta
sfinţilor, sfântă sfintelor (BB, Micu, Filotei, Şaguna: v. sopra) having the meaning
of “the Holy of Holies” (VDC 1924, Jubilee Bible 2000) or “the saint of
saints” (Douay-Rheims Bible 1610).
Paul adopts such a proceeding using the expression ὑπερβολὴ(ν) εἰς
ὑπερβολὴν in 2 Corinthians 4:7: “surpassing to excessiveness”.
3.2.1.2. Superlative obtained through composition
It seams that Paul invented words using hyper prefix. Erich Sauer states the
following aspects:
“The apostle has a tendency to build up words using «super» (Gk. hyper) and he
does it so often that this is one of the characteristics of his literary style. Of a
total of 29 combinations using the word «super» which occur in the whole New
Testament no less than 19 belong to him alone and 4 are shared with other
biblical authors. Thus he speaks of:
 a «super»-growth in faith (2 Thess. 1,3),
 a «super»-victory and conquest (Rom. 8:37),
 a «super»-exceeding grace of God (2 Cor. 9:14),
 a «super»-fullness of riches (Eph. 2:7),
 a «super»-exceeding greatness of His power (Eph.1:19),
 a «super»-exceeding glory (2 Cor. 3:10).
Thus he speaks of a knowledge of:
 a «super»-exceeding love of Christ (Eph. 3:19),
 a peace in Christ which «super»-exceeds all understanding (Phil. 4:7),
 a «super»-excelling joy even in tribulation (2 Cor. 7:4),
 the foundation of this is however the «super»-exaltation of Jesus (Phil. 2:9),
 the exceeding «super»-abundant presence of grace (1 Tim.1:14),
 the «super»-abounding of grace just where sin had formerly «abounded»
(Rom. 5:20). Etc.” (Sauer 2009, 81-2)
The proceeding was assumed by subsequent Christian authors:
 hyperagnos – “more than pure” (Pseudo-Dionisie, De caelesti hierarchia,
10.3);
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 hyperalethes – “more that true” (Maxim Confesor, Mistagogia 5; PseudoDionisie, De ecclesiastica hierarchia, 1);
 hypertheos – “more than divine” (Pseudo-Dionisie, De divini nominibius,
2.3) etc.
3.2.2. Superlatives adopted in Romanian versions of the Bible
3.2.2.1. Creation of superlatives in Romanian language
The formation of absolute compositional superlatives can be accomplished
either through suffixes (per example: -isim), or using archaic prefixes (prea-,
răz-, stră-) or neological prefixes. Explanatory terminological dictionaries
abound in compound words using prefixes such as over- [arhi-], extra- [extra-],
supra- [supra-], super- [super-], hyper- [hiper-], ultra- [ultra-] (Avram 1997, 125). In
Romanian language there are more than 1.110 words made up with the
following verbal particles: over- [arhi-] (>120 occ.), extra- [extra-] (>110 occ.),
supra- [supra-] (>350 occ.) (Avram 1997, 125), super- [super-] (>190 occ.),
hyper- [hiper-] (>230 occurrences) and ultra- [ultra-] (>110 occ.).
Eugen Munteanu discussed the transposition / transfer of some terms in
Romanian language – namely “the exact or approximate equivalence of
semantic content or radix, like the semantic dimension of the prefix from
Greek” (Munteanu 1995, 183). He exemplifies “the idea of superiority”
(superlative!) with three compounds deriving from hyper: (1) hypereido – “to
neglect” (hyper- + eido, “to see”), BB: “to overlook”; (2) hyperecho, “to
dominate” (hyper- + [echo, “to have”]), BB: “to be superior”; (3) hypermachos,
“advocate, protector” (hyper- + [machomai, “to fight”]), BB: “super fighter”
(ro.: “prearăzboinic”) (Munteanu 1995, 186).
3.2.2.2. The superlative from Philippians 2:9 in Romanian translations
We notice that, in order to express the maximum intensity of the term,
some translators – especially the traditional ones have used archaic
prefixoids as: pre- or prea-. Therefor, Greek verb ὑπερύψωσεν has been
translated using preînălţă (1648, 1688), or preaînălţat (1795, 1838, 1873, 1914).
Same term is used by Scriban (1939): prie-vuznositi (Slavonic terms),
“prearădic”, “suprănalţ” (Scriban 1939, 1033). The other proceedings have
been adopted as follows (2-4) (see table no. 5).
3.2.2.3. Superlatives obtained with “over-” [“prea-”] particle in old biblical translations
Several ecclesiastic old documents from Romanian area contain superlatives of
expression attached to the biblical text. Over- [prea-] appears:
 in Apostol [Apostle] (approx. 1559-60, Transylvania) and Psaltirea
românească [Romanian Psaltery] (1570, Braşov) for obtaining the word
preapodobit 5 or preapodobnic 6, that is ”over-faith” or “faithful” to
superlative (Mareş 1994, 64, 97);
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Fănel Şuteu
 in Tetraevanghel [Tetra-Gospel] (1561, Braşov), for the word preaiubire (lit.
”over-love”)7, namely “adultery” (Mareş 1994, 79);
 in Evanghelie cu învăţătură [Gospel with teaching] (1581, Braşov), for the
term a preaizbândi8 (lit. ”over-take”) namely “to exceed, to abound”
(Mareş 1994, 109);
 in Viaţa Sfântului Grigore Decapolitul [Life of Saint Grigore Decapolitul]
(1632-1654, Bistriţa Monastery, Vâlcea county), for compound
superlative preaogodnic9, namely “beloved, very pleasant” (Mareş 1994,
197-198).
We deduct hence that the proceeding to obtain superlatives was
enfranchised in Romanian language from ancient times.
Table no. 5
Proceeding
1. Prefixoid + Verb
2. Adverb derived from participle in
negative form+preposition+modal adverb
3. Verb + modal adverb + adverb of place
4. Verb + demonstrative article + modal adverb
+ adjective + noun
Result
(Ro.): „pre” (prea) + „a înălţa” = „preînălţă”
(1648, 1688), „preaînălţat” (1795, 1838, 1914,
1939, 2001, 2010), „pré-înălţatu” (1873);
(En.): “over” + “to exalt” = ”over-exalted”
(Ro.) „înălţat nespus de mult” (1921, 2006)
(En.): ”exalted unspeakable high”
(Ro.): „a înălţat foarte sus” (1897, 2001)
(En.): ”exalted very high”
(Ro.): „a acordat cea mai mare onoare” (2015)
(En.): ”granted the highest honor”
Conclusions
(I) Was Paul an innovator in matter of New Testament biblical language?
Is Sauer right? Did Apostle Paul invent 19 words through composition
using hyper particle? Partially yes; we will see below.
(II) A surprise: the term from Philippians 2:9 appears in LXX!
The term hyperupsoo appears later used by Eusebius of Caesarea (Historia
ecclesiastica) and in the work Vita Varlaam et Ioasaf. What do we deduct from
this? Did perhaps saint Paul invented this word, along with other words,
while Romanian translators took over the compound and tried to transpose
it identically in Romanian language? It seams so. However, looking into
LXX, we find in Ps 96:9 the following text: ὑπερυψώθης ὑπὲρ πάντας τοὺς
θεούς (hyperypsotes hyper pantas tus Theus): “exceedingly above all gods” (See
webogr.: [Murphey]). And we understand: before Paul, there were people
that invented this term, and the apostle updated it.
(III) Paul’s contribution to biblical lexical corpus: compound terms using
hyper particle.
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Which was indeed Paul’s contribution to the enrichment of New Testament
language? Out of the 19 compound words, how many appear for the first
time from linguistic point of view in the epistles of the apostol? Not 19:
only 6! We provide the meaning of the compounds as they are presented in
“HELPSTM Word-studies” (See webogr.: [HELPSTM III]).
 (1) hyperakmos (adj.: hyper, “beyond” + akmen, “even now”): “beyond
[his] prime” (1 Cor 7:36);
 (2) hyperekeina (adv.: hypér, “beyond” + the neuter plural of ekeinos,
”yonder”): “even to the regions beyond” (2 Cor 10:16);
 (3) hyperekteino (vb.: hypér, “beyond” + ek, “out” + teinó, “to stretch”): “to
stretch beyond measure”, “overextending” (2 Cor 10:14) (Grigorie de
Nazianz, Carminum libri duo, 1.2.9.57);
 (4) hyperentugchano (vb.: hypér, “for benefit” + entygxanō, “come in line
with”) – properly, “to light upon (happen)”; literally, “bending over”,
“confer benefit” (Rom 8:26);
 (5) hyperperisseuo (vb.: hypér, “beyond” + perisseúō, “abundantly,
exceeding”): “beyond what already exceeds”, “ultra (super) abounds”
(Rom 5:20; 2 Cor 7:4);
 (6) hyperpleonazo (vb.: hypér, “beyond” + pleonázō, “many, being great in
number”): “to make exceedingly plentiful”, literally “very numerous,
numerically abundant”, “beyond counting” – what can be numbered (1
Tim 1:14).
(IV) Which is the optimal version of translating the text from Philippians
2:9?
The fidelity to the text imposes the prefixoidal version; the fidelity to
contemporaries suggests updated translating versions.
(V) About the word hyper and the hyper-Word
In past times, people were ready to die for a word (hyper!); nowadays, they
die for digits. Then, the martyrs were lifted up on crosses for the hyperupsoo –
over exalted in glory; now, people hang the crosses to their necks and raise
themselves on their tiptoes toward pyramid peak. There and then, people
were dying having the immortal Word on their lips, because they were living
the Word; at present, we die inside the words and the words die inside us.
What is still saving us? The Death of the hyper-Word (Logos) for those who
die inside the words.
Notes
In line with miraculum / mirabile / mirum / res mira wondering is linked with miracle
(Wachter 1737, 1933).
2 Biblical text states that “The whole earth marveled after the beast” (Bible,
Interconfesional Version, 2010), or “and all the world wondered after the beast” (VDC,
1
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Fănel Şuteu
1924). Vulgata translation says: et admirata est universa terra post bestiam. The term used in
Greek, ἐθαυμάσθη [ethaumasthe] (Verb, Aorist Indicative Passive, 3rd Person, Singular)
originates in the verb θαυμάζω [thaumazo] “to wonder at, to be amazed (marvel)”,
“wondering very greatly” (Souter); the noun θαῦμα [thauma] “[a] wonder” evokes emotional
wonder. Out of this the term “taumaturgo” derives. See webogr.: [HELPSTM I].
3 This is a legitimate clarification, given the fact that Romanian language promoted by
Romanian literate and encyclopaedist, Dimitrie Cantemir, was enriched by hybrid terms
such as „struţocămila” / ”ostrich-camel”, creature identified with „cămila nepăsărită şi
pasărea necămilită” / “the camel unbirded and the bird uncameled” (Cantemir 1973, 77);
meanwhile how can these words be translated other that keeping only the meaning:
“ostrich”+“camel”= “ostrich-camel” and “camel”+“un-”+“to [!] bird”= “unbirded
camel”?
4 In Ancient and Medieval literature, the Greek ”ς” [sigma] became ”c” [lunate sigma].
5 MS., Page 21, Psalm 6:10: “Că nu lăsaşi sufletul meu întru iad, nici n-ai dat preapodobitului
tău a vedea putredirea.” / “For You will not abandon me to Sheol; You will not allow Your
Faithful One to see decay” (HCSB 2004).
6 MS., Page 54v, Psalm 50:5: “Adunaţi lui pe preapodobnicii lui…” / “Gather to me my faithful
ones…” (ESV 2001).
7 MS., Page 84r, Mark 7:21: “Den lăuntrul amu inimiei omului cugete reale ies, preaiubire
face, iubiri face, ucideri” / “For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil
thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders” (KJV 1611).
8 MS., Page 358, Matthew 25:29: “Avutul amu da-i-se-va şi i se va preaizbândi…” / “For to
every one that has shall be given, and he shall have abundance” (AKJV 1999).
9 MS. no. 2522, Pages 110, 112, 114, 115, 116. “Petreacerea [viaţa, n.n.] pre scurt a
preaogodnicului [preaiubitului, n.n.] părintelui nostru, Grigorie Decapolitul.”/ “Life in a
Nutshell of our Beloved Father, Grigorie Decapolitul” Etc. Document adjudged to Ignatie
Diaconul (cen. IX).
References
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Webography
[C.S.L.]: C.S. Lewis. Miracles: http://www.basicincome.com/bp/files/Miracles-C_S_Lewis.pdf.
[HELPSTM I-III]: HELPSTM Word-studies, Copyright © 1987, 2011 by Helps Ministries,
Inc., to the link: http://thediscoverybible.com/features/word-studies/, accessed
on the 17th of November 2016.
[Murphey]: http://www.textcritical.net/work/lxx/Psalms/96/9.
[S.J.F.J.]: “New Testament Statistics compiled by Felix Just, S.J., Ph.D.”: http://catholicresources.org/Bible/NT-Statistics-Greek.htm.
[TUFTS]: “Word frequency information for ὑπέρ”, Perseus Digital Library, Ph Gregory S.
Crane: http://www.perseus. tufts.edu/hopper/wordfreq?lookup=u(pe/r&lang=
greek&sort=max.
The Classical Quarterly. Vol. 22, No. 3-4 (Jul. – Oct.), 129-142. See address:
http://www.jstor.org/stable/635997?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents.
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Victor Alexandru Pricopi
Victor Alexandru PRICOPI *
Gnostic exegesis on book of Genesis
Abstract: Through the influential thesis of Hans Jonas, for a long time modern
scholars considered Gnostic schools as being, par excellence, anti-Jewish philosophical
and religious movements. An influential group of scholars thought that Gnostics
rejected the books of Old Testament. Gnostic exegesis, they say, is a “protest
exegesis”, an “inverse exegesis” or “value reversal”. To start with, there is not a
systematic approach of “reversals” or a systematic rejection of Old Testament.
Indeed, in original Gnostic sources we can find such an exegesis, but this is not a
common point for all Gnostic writings. In this paper we want to tackle some
scholarly debates on Gnostic exegesis on Genesis.
Keywords: exegesis, Genesis, protest, reversal, allegory
1. Introduction
In a recent study, Winrich Löhr notes that in the Second Century begin to
appear a series of “Christian teachers sought to interpret and propagate
Christianity as a Philosophy in the Ancient sense of the word” (Löhr 2013,
584). These thinkers are at the origins of Scriptural Hermeneutics, or, using
his own words, “Christian Gnostic teachers and schools are at the origin of
the Christian interpretation of the Bible” (Löhr 2013, 584). Indeed, there are
a couple of Gnostic teachers who played a leading role in the history of
biblical interpretation. Basilides, Valentinus, Ptolemy or Herakleon – who
wrote the first systematic commentary on the Gospel of John, are well known
names therein. Over time, certain scholars have considered Gnostic
teachers as anti-Jewish thinkers. That is what led them to say about those
thinkers and teachers that they rejected the Jewish traditions and Jewish
scriptures. The new discovered Gnostic writings revealed a more complex
attitude toward the Old Testament and its doctrines. In this paper we want
to highlight some scholarly debates on Gnostic exegesis in general, and their
exegesis on book of Genesis, in particular.
Giovanni Filoramo and Claudio Gianotto analyze both heresiological
sources and Gnostic texts from Nag Hammadi and observe the following
thing: from nearly 600 analyzed sources, the references to Old Testament
are in particular references to book of Genesis; more exactly, from 600 texts,
*
“Alexandru Ioan Cuza” University of Iași, Romania; email: [email protected]
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50 % refer to historical books, 25 % to prophets and 25 % to sapiential
books. In the first group, almost 70 % are references to Genesis. Further,
from 230 passages of this kind, almost 200 are linked with Genesis 1-11
(Filoramo and Gianotto 1984, 55). Accordingly, we see that stories from
book of Genesis play a major role in Gnostic writings, in their way of
thinking and interpreting the world and human history.
2. Protest against Old Testament?
Jonas‟ work had a huge impact in the history of research in this field. In his
early work Gnosis und spätantiker Geist, first volume published in 1934, and
after that revised and translated into English in 1958, Jonas makes a
breakthrough point in the study of “Gnosticism”. He suggests that the
Gnostic religion is a religion of knowledge with “a certain conception of the
world, of man‟s alienness within it, and of the transmundane nature of the
godhead” (Jonas 2001, 101). This kind of special knowledge is expressed
creatively in myths, borrowed from other religions. In his paper, presented
in 1966 at the Messina Conference, Jonas proposes a definition of
“Gnosticism” and he will point out that it has seven essential features; one
of it interests us here: “Gnosticism” has an aggressive polemic against other
religious tradition, as is the case of Judaism (Jonas 1970, 101-102; Jonas
2001, 33).
For the German scholar, Gnostics manipulate in an arbitrary way the
text of Scripture. In this regard, he notes:
“Gnostic allegory, though often of this conventional type, is in its most telling
instances of a very different nature. Instead of taking over the value-system of
the traditional myth, it proves the deeper “knowledge” by reversing the roles of
good and evil, sublime and base, blest and accursed, found in the original. It
tries, not to demonstrate agreement, but to shock by blatantly subverting the
meaning of the most firmly established, and preferably also the most revered,
elements of tradition.” (Jonas 2001, 91-92)
In his paper from the Messina Conference, he also writes: “The same valuereversal is practiced with regard to the Law, the prophets, the status of the
chosen people – all along the line, one might say, with a very few
exceptions, such as the misty figure of Seth. No tolerant eclecticism here”
(Jonas 1970, 102).
Most of Jonas‟ theses are attractive, but they tend to distort the actual
picture given by the original Gnostic tractates from Nag Hammadi library.
Michael Allen Williams has the merit for rendering the first systematic
attempt of dismantling the category of „Gnosticism‟, as it was developed by
Jonas. The American scholar summarizes the version of Jonas‟ „Gnosticism‟
in the following way:
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“‛gnosticʼ demiurgical myths can be distinguished from others because
‛gnosticsʼ had an ‛attitude.ʼ They had an attitude of ‛protestʼ or of ‛revolt,ʼ an
‛anticosmic attitude.ʼ This attitude allegedly showed up in the way ‛gnosticsʼ
treated Scripture (they are alleged to have reversed all its values), viewed the
material cosmos (they supposedly rejected it), took an interest in society at large
(they didn‟t, we are told), felt about their own bodies (they hated them).”
(Williams 1996, 4-5)
If Jonas speaks about “value-reversal,” the one who talks about a “protest
exegesis” is another German scholar, Kurt Rudolph. For him, Gnostic
exegesis “runs counter to the external text and the traditional interpretation”
(Rudolph 1984, 54). At a Conference, in 1978, Karl-Wolfgang Tröger states
that “Gnostic religion” is an anti-cosmic religion, a protest-religion, it is
antinomistic and its method is represented by “the reinterpretation and
above all the revaluation of Jewish traditions” (Tröger 1981, 92). More than
that, Gnostics are against other traditions, not only against Judaism: “The
anti-cosmic attitude of the Gnostic religion has not only an anti-Jewish
aspect, but also on anti-Greek or anti-Hellenistic one in despising the
ingenuity (…) and beauty of the cosmos in Hellenism as well in Judaism”
(Tröger 1981, 89).
The Romanian scholar Ioan Petru Culianu (1992, 121; cf. Nagel 1980, 50)
points out that the starting point of the Gnostic myth is the exegesis of the
book of Genesis, who it is not an innocent exegesis, but an inverted one. It
reverses, steadily and systematic, the traditional interpretations of the Bible.
After this remark, he notes: “‛Inverse exegesisʼ may be singled out as the
main hermeneutical principle of the gnostics. It appears to us as reversed. In
reality, gnostics would see it as ‛restoredʼ” (Culiano 1992, 121). For him,
Gnostics seem to be the first representatives of an “hermeneutic of
suspicion”.
With respect to all these theories, Michael Allen Williams writes: “The
problem with such formulas as ‛protest exegesis,‟ or ‛inverse exegesis,‟ or
‛value reversal‟ in this context is that any survey of the array of sources
normally categorized today as ‛gnostic‟ reveals that in fact they share no
pattern of consistent reversal” (1996, 57). He shows in a very convincing
way that there is not a systematic approach of „reversals‟. We follow here his
tables, in order to show some examples. For example, if Cain is negatively
evaluated in Genesis, he is positively evaluated by Cainites, but negatively
too by Sethians, Ptolemy, by Ophites, in The Apocryphon of John, Gospel of
Philip or A Valentinian Exposition. The Eating of Tree of Knowledge episode
is negatively evaluated in book of Genesis, same thing happens in Justin‟s
Baruch, The Tripartite Tractate or Gospel of Philip, but it is positively evaluated in
The Apocryphon of John, The Testimony of Truth or On the Origin of the World, and
examples may continue (Williams 1996, 61-62).
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Indeed, they resort sometimes to a hermeneutical reversal, but they do it
like that when are dealing with passages traditionally considered to be
difficult. Focusing on a group of “scriptural chestnuts,” as is the case of
Genesis 1:26-27, Genesis 2:3, Genesis 2 or Genesis 6, Williams demonstrates that
in all these cases the Gnostics are dealing with difficulties related to the
anthropomorphism of God (Williams 1996, 64-75).1 It should be mentioned
here that the Gnostics are not the only ones who criticize the Creator God
from Genesis. John Granger Cook performs an extensive study that deals
with Old Testament interpretation in the Ancient pagan philosophy and
reports that in addition to Celsius there are many more pagan thinkers who
find some scandalous issues in the Genesis story: “Porphyry criticized the
OT God for not giving the first humans knowledge. Julian criticized the
Creator for not allowing people to have knowledge of good and evil, and
argued that the serpent was a benefactor rather than a destroyer of the
human race (…) Theophilus argued against the thesis that God was envious
of Adam by noting that a newborn child begin s with milk and not solid
food” (Cook 2004, 77).
3. Irenaeus’ Critique on Valentinian Interpretation of Scripture
In order to illustrate the way Gnostics pervert the Scripture and how they
use it to produce their own texts or tales, Irenaeus appeals to an analogy. He
suggests us to imagine the mosaic of a king, an image made by a skilled
artisan. This artwork with all of its tesserae or stones is associated with
God‟s word from Scripture. When a second artisan dismantles the king‟s
mosaic in order to make a new one, he will finish up by composing a
completely different and new mosaic, but using the same precious tesserae.
If the first image represents the King (God), the one made by the second
artisan is an image of an unclean dog or a deceitful fox. Let‟s read this
analogy in Irenaeus‟ own words:
“By way of illustration, suppose someone would take the beautiful image of a
king, carefully made out of precious stones by a skillful artist, and would
destroy the features of the man on it and change around and rearrange the
jewels, and make the form of a dog, or of a fox, out of them, and that a rather
bad piece of work. Suppose he would then say with determination that this is
the beautiful image of the king that the skillful artist had made, at the same time
pointing to the jewels which had been beautifully fitted together by the first
artist into the image of the king, but which had been badly changed by the
second into the form of a dog. And suppose he would through this fanciful
arrangement of the jewels deceive the inexperienced who had no idea of what
the king‟s picture looked like, and would persuade them that this base picture
of a fox is that beautiful image of the king. In the same way these people patch
together old women‟s fables, and then pluck words and sayings and parables
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from here and there and wish to adapt these words of God to their fables.”
(Adversus Haereses 1.8.1)
In the same section, Irenaeus writes „They disregard the order and the
connection of the Scriptures and, as much as in them lies, they disjoint the
members of the Truth. They transfer passages and rearrange them; and,
making one thing out of another, they deceive many by the badly composed
phantasy of the Lord‟s words that they adapt.” Gnostic thinkers do not
ignore Scriptures, but they use it to compose a new and distorted text.
Thus, in this analogy, Irenaeus tells us why Valentinians use the same stones
(scriptural verses), but in another order.2 As John J. O‟Keefe and Russell R.
Reno note, “the ability of the false readers to use a verse here and a verse
there gives plausibility to their false image of the whole” (O‟Keefe and Reno
2005, 35).
In a recent book, David W. Jorgensen gives a more complex
interpretation of Irenaeus‟ analogy. For him, the king represents the
ultimate reality of God, the human king represents the catholic hypothesis,
fox king has its equal in Valentinian hypothesis, the mosaic of the human
king has its counterpart in the demonstration of catholic hypothesis, the
mosaic of the fox represents the demonstration of the Valentinian
hypothesis, the tesserae are the scriptural passages and the quarry is the
Scripture (Jorgensen 2016, 71). Irenaeus‟ example shows us that, at least,
some Gnostics do not reject the Old Testament, but they use it for their
own purposes and goals.
4. Gnostic attitudes toward the Old Testament
Other modern scholars tried to find a set of principles or attitudes behind
Gnostic interpretative practice. In time, they have imposed more opinions
in this regard (Löhr 2013, 594; Williams 1996, 57-59; Pearson 1988, 636638). Peter Nagel (1980, 51), for example, proposes six types of Gnostic
interpretation of the Old Testament: 1. openly rejection of figures and
events from the Old Testament (e.g. The Second Discourse of the Great Seth, The
Testimony of Truth); 2. an interpretation that changes the roles and functions
of Old Testament characters and events (The Hypostasis of the Archons, On the
Origin of the World, The Apocalypse of Adam) ; 3. a corrective interpretation in a
close relation with point 2 (The Apocryphon of John); 4. a neutral and
allegorical interpretation (Justin‟s Baruch, Pistis Sophia); 5. quoting of a single
Old Testament verse, in order to support the Gnostic teachings or practices
(the Valentinians); 6. etiological and typological interpretations of the Old
Testament, sometimes with a soteriological tendency (Gospel of Philip, The
Tripartite Tractate, Gosel of Truth, The Exegesis on the Soul, Pistis Sophia).
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Giovanni Filoramo and Claudio Gianotto (1982, 63-73) show that in
Gnostic texts we can find three hermeneutical approaches: 1. allegorical
interpretation; 2. prefiguration and actualization; 3. reinterpretation and
rewriting. One of the major conclusions reached by Filoramo and Gianotto
lies in the fact that they indicate a correlation between the reinterpretative
techniques and different theological positions. Also, Gnostics use allegory
and prefiguration, when Old Testament is positively evaluated. Instead, the
rejection occurs when Gnostics attempt to rewrite the text.3
A similar approach is undertaken by Anne Pasquier. For her too,
Gnostic exegesis has a starting point in their theological, liturgical or
apologetical goals (Pasquier 2008, 370). She finds two criteria that can be
used to group Gnostic texts, depending on the type of exegesis which they
applied to Old Testament: 1. after exegetical technique; 2. after the
expressed theological view. In the first item we find three exegetical
techniques: typology, allegory and Midrash exegesis. In the second point,
she considers that there are three types of relationships with the biblical
text: a. a rejection of the Jewish text, as is the example of The Second Discourse
of the Great Seth or The Paraphrase of Shem; b. a positive interpretation of Old
Testament texts, as is the example of Eugnostos the Blessed or Exegesis on the
Soul; c. a middle position, which is the most common (Pasquier 2008, 370).
Birger Pearson (1998, 638) simplifies Nagel‟s list and finds three
hermeneutical presuppositions used by Gnostics: 1. a wholly negative view
of the Old Testament; 2. a completely positive view; 3. intermediate
positions. The Second Discourse of the Great Seth is considered to be the main
exponent of the first category. The Gnostic text is strongly polemical with
the monotheistic Christians, and it is also against Old Testament and its
prophets. In the section 62.27-64.17, the author of the treatise attacks
Moses, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Solomon, the twelve prophets, David, and
call them a joke. The gap between the Old Testament and the new covenant
is insurmountable, because nobody knew Christ in advance. The God of
Old Testament is also under attack in 64.17-65.2: “He was a joke, with his
judgement and false prophecy”. As Pearson summed up “here is a
wholesale rejection of the OT: its heroes of faith, its history of salvation, its
legal demands, and its God.” (Pearson 1998, 640)
On the other hand, The Exegesis on the Soul is considered to have a wholly
positive stance toward Old Testament. Scriptural passages are cited as
proof-texts for the story of soul. Ptolemy‟s Letter to Flora, along with The
Tripartite Tractate and The Concept of Our Great Power are seen as examples for
the intermediate group, which is also the main tendency. Also, we have to
note here Pleše‟s remark regarding the attitudes towards Gnostic demiurge:
“whereas the „Sethian‟ accounts tend to portray the demiurge as an
autonomous semblance-maker stirred by the irrational impulses of his
appetitive soul, various „Valentinian‟ cosmogonies consider the cosmic
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craftsman to be an imperfect yet reliable mediator between the superior
world and the realm of matter – ignorant of the ideal forms, yet obediently
following the rational principles of world-creation conceived by a higher
power” (Pleše 2014, 118; cf. Thomassen 1993, 226-244). So, the attitude
towards the demiurge, and, therefore, towards the Old Testament‟s God,
depends on the Gnostic school who treat him.
5. The Status of God’s Law in Ptolemy’s Letter to Flora
In his Panarion, Epiphanius, the bishop of Salamis, quotes a letter written by
the Ptolemy to Flora, one of his fellows. The Valentinian teacher, at the
beginning of his Letter, rejects two opinions in respect to Old Testament‟s
source. One opinion represents the views of ordinary Christians and Jews,
and it stipulates that the legislator is the highest God. The other view on
this legislator identifies him with the devil.4 In his perspective, Law cannot
be established by the perfect God, who is the Father, firstly because it must
be of the same nature as its source. It is an imperfect Law, which needed
the Christ in order to fulfill it. On the other hand, it contains
commandments that are unworthy and incompatible with a perfect God.
Also, it cannot have been ordained by the devil either, since the Law repeal
injustice. (Letter to Flora, 33.3.1-33.3.5)
Then, Ptolemy makes three divisions of the Law: God‟s laws, laws of
Moses and Precepts of the Elders. In its turn, God‟s laws split in pure law,
as Decalogue, then comes retributive law or lex talionis, and ritual law.
Related to these, Ptolemy writes that the Decalogue is pure, but imperfect,
lex talionis is interwoven with injustice, and ritual law holds a symbolic part.
In addition, he says that the pure law has been fulfilled by the Savior, the
section interwoven with injustice has been abolished, and the symbolic part
has been physically abolished. The conclusion reached by Ptolemy is as it
follows: the law giver is an intermediate God. Let‟s see his conclusion in
extenso:
“If, as we have explained, the Law was not given by the perfect God himself,
and certainly not by the devil – it is not proper even to say this – then this
lawgiver is someone other than these. But this is the demiurge and maker of
this entire world and everything in it. As he differs from the essences of the
other two ‛andʼ stands in between them, he may properly be titled ‛The
Intermediate.ʼ And if, by his own nature, the perfect God is good – as indeed
he is, for our Savior has declared that his Father, whom he made manifest, is
the one and only good God – and if a god of the adversary‟s nature is evil and
is marked as wicked by his injustice – then a God who stands between them,
and is neither good nor, certainly, evil or unjust, may properly be called ‛just,ʼ
being the arbiter of his sort of justice.” (Letter to Flora 33.7.3-5).
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Therefore, for the Valentinians, Savior establishes a new order. He does
not abolish the law entirely, but only the part that refers to the law of
retribution. Also, he completes the Decalogue and explains the spiritual
meaning of symbols and rites. In other words, the Valentinian Gnostics do
not break completely with Judaism but, as Christians did, they keep a certain
continuity to it.
6. Gnostic use of Genesis
Søren Giversen analyzes the way in which Apocryphon of John makes use
of Scripture. He finds four forms: 1. actual quotations, with introduction
“as follows”, “as Moses said” or “the prophet said”, 2. quotations without
such an introduction, 3. there are expressions derived from Old Testament,
4. use of a single word who can be linked with an expression from Old
Testament (Giversen 1963, 63-66; cf. Pearson 1993, 160-161; Pearson 1988,
647). The Danish scholar shows also that the author of The Apocryphon of
John does not completely accept the book of Genesis, but this does not mean
that he rejects it: „According to AJ‟s view, of course, Moses belongs to a
time when the pneuma was not yet fully unfolded, but had yet made its
influence felt. The Apocryphon‟s use of Genesis is therefore often an
interpretation that reverses matters.” (Giversen 1963, 75) Thus, the message
of the Gnostic text provides the revelatory insight of Genesis, the initiates
know now how to interpret the Jewish text, how to find the real truth
hidden in it. Also, as Manlio Simonetti notices there are two sources of
inspiration for the Old Testament text “the Demiurge, who inspires the
literal, psychical meaning of the text intended for ‛psychic‟ men, and Sophia,
who inspires a deeper meaning, the spiritual one intended for Gnostics
only.” (Simonetti 1994, 16)
It is very interesting here the fact that the Gnostic thinker, who wrote
the Apocryphon, criticizes Moses a couple of times, with the phrases “do not
suppose that it is as Moses said” or “it is not as Moses wrote”. After such
expressions, the author gives the right interpretation of Moses‟ text. When
the author says that Moses is wrong, he doesn‟t want only to provide a
correct interpretation, but he wants also to complete it. The Gnostics did it
this way because they are engaged in controversy with Christians and Jews
(Luttikhuizen 2006, 28). The latter accepts the literal reading of Genesis, but
Gnostics believe that The Apocryphon contains different voices: some are
provided by Ialdabaoth, the bad demiurge, others are from his mother, the
Wisdom, as seen above. For this reason the Gnostic must be a careful
reader in order to distinguish among them. This means that Gnostics were
capable to find and discern some truth in the book of Genesis, but this truth
is hidden and it can be found only if the text is read and understood in a
special Gnostic key5.
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But, what does it mean to read the Genesis in a special Gnostic way?
Karen King states that, according to the writer of The Apocryphon of John,
“the literature of most tradition is unreliable” (King 2006, 180; Bos 1984,
21-22). For the Gnostic author, “Plato, Moses, and Solomon offer only a
distorted and refracted imitation of the true Reality” (King 2006, 181). So,
the Apocryphon‟s author believes that Greek philosophical traditions, along
with Jewish tradition, Johannine literature etc. are limited and offer us just a
partial truth. Indeed, all of these traditions claim to offer a real and
complete truth, but this may be doubted in a world dominated by ignorance
and deceit. In this way, a question arises: how can we achieve the truth. The
answer is, as Karen King writes, “through revelation from the Divine
Realm” (King 2006, 181).
So, when Gnostics read the book of Genesis, they do it in a special way.
Whenever they refer to book of Genesis, they have as presupposition their
myth. One basic conviction of this myth is the relationship between the
absolute and totally transcendent God, and a separate spiritual world, on the
one hand, and the Demiurge6 the craftsman of this world, who isn‟t perfect,
on the other hand. Another principle of their myth is the fact that they
believe they are in possession of a secret, esoteric type of knowledge.
7. Gnostic esoteric readings
Gnostics claim that they received their secret tradition and knowledge
through a direct contact with the apostolic tradition. The apostles, and
through them, Gnostics too, are the only true keepers of the Savior‟s secret
doctrines. The Dutch scholar Gerard P. Luttikhuizen remarks that a basic
concept of the Gnostics “was the conviction that Christ revealed another
God than the Old Testament creator and ruler of the world.” (2006, 27)
In this respect, Christian heresiologists give us several testimonials. For
example, Hippolytus tells us that Basilides, an Alexandrian Gnostic
theologian, and his son claim that they know the secret message of Jesus via
Matthias: “Basileides and Isidore – his genuine son and disciple – say that
Matthias spoke to them hidden discourses that the Savior taught in private.”
(Refutation, 7.20.1)
Irenaeus of Lyons often talks about Gnostics who make such statements.
Clement of Alexandria, in his Stromata VII.17, informs us that Valentinus
claims he was a hearer of Theudas, a disciple of Paul. In his Letter to Flora,
Ptolemy speaks about an apostolic tradition which, he writes, “I have
received in my turn, together with the assessment of all its statements by the
standard of our Savior‟s teaching.” (Panarion II.7.8.).
Such statements can be also found in primary Gnostic sources. For
example, in The Apocryphon of John 31.25-32.10 we read that the esoteric
message of Savior must be shared only with the spiritual ones: “I have told
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you everything for you to record and communicate secretly to your spiritual
friends.” In Revelation of Peter 72.4-73.23 we can read “I have told you that
these people are blind and deaf. Now listen to the things I am telling you in
secret and keep them. Do not tell them to the children of this age.” An
unequivocally allegation is found in The Revelation of Adam 85.3-18 “The
preserved words of the God of the eternal realms were not copied in a book
or put in writing”. Pheme Perkins believes that although Gnostics produced
a rich literature and new gospels, they did not create a Gnostic Bible in
order to replace the canonical texts of Judaism and Christianity. They adopt
an hermeneutics of esotericism “to frame a different experience of self,
world, and salvation” (Perkins 2002, 371).
8. Allegory and re-writing Genesis
We already noted that Gnostic use often allegory in their exegesis on book
of Genesis. Gnostic thinkers do not use the Old Testament text only to cite
or comment. Moreover, these exegetes do not maintain always a clear
distance between the original text and the commentary itself. In this line,
David Dawson adds:
“allegorical interpretation sometimes takes the form of new composition: the
allegorical interpreter gives ‛otherʼ meanings to the narrative he is interpreting,
but at the same time makes those other meanings represent characters and
events in a new story, into which he surreptitiously weaves the old story. (…)
The interpreter thus offers the new story with its own integrity and does not
explicitly say that this new story is derived from one that precedes it.” (Dawson
1992, 129-130)
The American scholar gives as example the opening verses of Genesis and its
allegorically reading in Philo and the Prologue to John's Gospel. If Philo keeps a
clear distinction between the original text and his commentary, the evangelist
breaks that clear separation. John the evangelist has such an approach
because he “does not want his readers to think that he is simply giving them
an interpretation of Genesis; rather, he is giving them Genesis properly
understood, that is, Genesis as absorbed by a larger story.” (Dawson 1992,
131). This is indicated by Irenaeus also, in Adversus Haereses 1.8.1, as we have
already seen. In this regard, some paradigmatic examples are The Apocryphon
of John or The Hypostasis of Archons, which are in essence rewritten stories of
Genesis.
Among all rewritten Old Testament verses, most often is used Genesis 111, and this suggests that Gnostic exegetes and theologians “were only
interested in elaborating their mythic and theological speculations
concerning the origins of the universe, not in appropriating a received
canonical tradition.”(Perkins 2002, 371). As we have seen, they have a
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predilection for certain passages from Bible, they chose problematic verses
which are suitable to their purposes, they gave them a new interpretation
according with their doctrines.
9. Conclusion
When Gnostic writings were composed, cosmogonies as Genesis or Timaeus
had been reinterpreted for many decades, even centuries. Genesis has been
interpreted by Jewish thinkers, as Philo, in order to clarify some difficult
verses and to put Jewish tradition in harmony with Hellenistic philosophy.
Timaeus has been interpreted by Plato‟s followers and especially by medioPlatonists as Albinus, Atticus or Numenius.
The original Gnostic sources reveal us a whole range of exegesis strategies
applied to Genesis. Indeed, some texts reject the Genesis‟ story, but there is
also a partial acceptance, allegorical interpretation and commentary, paraphrase,
allusions, quotes, etiological and typological interpretations, expansion
and creation of new characters and stories, parody, and so on. Another
conclusion can be summed up by using Bentley Layton‟s (2005, 54) words:
“much of Gnosticism can be seen not as a revolt against, but as a revision
of, traditional religions, especially in their textual manifestations.” Therefore,
they do not reject Old Testament, as Marcion did, but they use it in a
revisionist way. They claim that it must be interpreted after their
understanding, their esoteric and special knowledge. Some truth is hidden in
the text of Genesis, but it must be read correctly, in a special way.
Notes
1 For example, “I am a jealous God” (Exodus 20:5; 34:14; Deuteronomy 4:24; 5:9, 6:15); “there
is none beside me” (Isaiah 43:11; 44:6,8 etc.).
2 Not the Canon is the central point of conflict between Irenaeus and Valentinians, but
their hermeneutics (Perkins 2002, 371).
3 “La scelta delle varie tecniche interpretative pare strettamente collegata alle diverse
posizioni teologiche. Da una parte, l‟utilizzazione dell‟interpretazione allegorica (peraltro
scarsamente documentata nei testi di Nag Hammadi) e prefigurativa dell‟AT e collegata ad
una valutazione in qualche modo positiva del carattere ispirato del testo sacro; dall'altra, la
posizione di rifiuto piu o meno radicale si traduce in tentativi di ritrascrivere il testo biblico
che sfociano nella redazione di racconti mitici alternativi” (Filoramo and Gianotto 1982, 74).
4 About such an attitude we can read also in Hippolytus‟ Refutation VI.35.1: “So all the
prophets and the Law spoke from the Artifier (the ‛stupid god,‟ as he alleges), and they
were stupid since they knew nothing. For this reason, he says, the Savior declares, ‛all who
have come before me are thieves and brigands,‟ and the apostle refers to ‛the mystery
which was not recognized in former generations.‟”
5 “Die Gnostiker haben die Vorgänge, die sich im Bannkreis jenes Gartens abgespielt
haben, von der Erschaffung des Menschen aus feuchtem Lehm (Gen 2,7) bis hin zu seinem
Hinauswurf (Gen 3,24), nie als Humbug abgetan oder schlicht für ‛ungeschichtlich‟ erklärt.
Das eigentliche Problem wurde darin gesehen, wie jene Vorgänge zu interpretieren seien
und wem sie praktisch recht geben” (Nagel 1980, 50; Luttikhuizen 2006, 28).
131
The Valentinian demiurge, for example, is very different from the Platonic one, but the
main ideas of Platonism are kept unchanged. Dunderberg (2008, 123) claims that relation
between Valentinian Gnosticism and Platonic tradition involves both tension, as well as
continuity, as Valentinians are in relation with Jewish tradition too. For the Finnish scholar,
both attitudes are important, by ensuring Valentinians that they are understood by those
who know philosophy, instead tension is necessary to show that they have something new
to offer. Scott C. Carrol (1994, 300-301) considers that the Gnostics took ideas from
Plato‟s philosophy, even if they do not inspire with fidelity from it, but hoping to impress
an Hellenized audience.
6
References
Bos, A. P. 1984. “World-Views in Collision: Plotinus, Gnostics, and Christians”, in Plotinus
amid Christians: Papers Presented at the Plotinus Symposium Held at the Free University,
Amsterdam, on 25 January 1984. edited by David T. Runia, 11-28. Amsterdam: Free
University Press.
Carrol, Scott C. 1994. “Gnosticism and the Classical Tradition”, in Hellenization Revisited:
Shaping a Christian Response within the Greco-Roman World, edited by Wendy E.
Helleman, 213-307. Lanham: University Press of America.
Cook, John Granger. 2004. The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism.
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.
Culiano, Ioan Petru. 1992. The Tree of Gnosis: Gnostic Mythology from Early Christianity to Modern
Nihilism. San Francisco: HarperCollins.
Dawson, David. 1992. Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Dunderberg, Ismo. 2008. Beyond Gnosticism. Myth, Lifestyle and Society in the School of Valentinus.
New York: Columbia University Press.
Filoramo, Giovanni and Claudio Gianotto. 1982. “L‟interpretazione gnostica dell‟Antico
Testamento: Posizioni ermeneutiche e techniche esegetiche”. Augustinianum 22:
53–74.
Giversen, Søren. 1963. “The Apocryphon of John and Genesis”. Studia Theologica – Nordic
Journal of Theology 17.1: 60-76.
Irenaeus of Lyons. 1991. Against the Heresies. Volume1: Book 1, Translated and annotated by
Dominic J. Unger, O.F.M. CAP., with further revisions by John. J. Dillon. New
York: The Newman Press.
Jonas, Hans. 2001. The Gnostic Religion: the Message of the Alien God and the Beginnings of
Christianity. Boston: Beacon Press.
Jonas, Hans. 1970 “Delimitations of the Gnostic Phenomenon – Typological and Historical”,
in Le origini dello gnosticismo: Colloquio di Messina, 13-18 Aprille 1966. edited by Ugo
Bianchi, 90-108. Leiden: Brill.
Jorgensen, David W. 2016. Treasure Hidden in a Field: Early Christian Reception of the Gospel of
Matthew. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.
King, Karen L. 2006. The Secret Revelation of John. Cambridge: Harvard University Press
Layton, Bentley. 2005. “The Riddle of the Thunder (NHC VI, 2): The Function of Paradox
in a Gnostic Text From Nag Hammadi”, in Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism, and Early
Christianity, edited by Charles W. Hedrick, Robert Hodgson, 37-54. Eugene: Wipf
& Stock.
Löhr, Winrich. 2013. ”Gnostic and Manichaean interpretation”, in The New Cambridge
History of the Bible, Volume 1: From the Beginnings to 600, edited by James Carleton
Paget and Joachim Schaper, 584-604. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Litwa, M. David, translator. 2016. Refutation of all heresies. Atlanta: SBL Press
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Luttikhuizen, Gerard P. 2006. Gnostic Revisions of Genesis Stories and Early Jesus Traditions.
Leiden: Brill
Nagel, Peter. 1980. “Die Auslegung der Paradieserzählung in der Gnosis”, in Altes Testament,
Frühjudentum, Gnosis: neue Studien zu “Gnosis und Bibel”, hrsg. von Karl-Wolfgang
Tröger, 49–70. Gutersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn.
O‟Keefe, John J. and R.R. Reno, Sanctified Vision: An Introduction to Early Christian Interpretation of the Bible. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Pasquier, Anne. 2008. “Présupposés herméneutiques de la lecture de la Bible juive chez les
gnostiques. Étude de quelques procédés exégétiques dans un traité de Nag
Hammadi (NH 2, 4)”, in The reception and interpretation of the Bible in late antiquity:
proceedings of the Montreal colloquium in honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October
2006, edited by Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu, 369-391. Leiden:
Brill.
Meyer, Marvin, editor. 2007. The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition. New York:
HarperOne.
Pearson, Birger. 1993. “Apocryphon Johannis Revisited”, Apocryphon Severini: presented to Søren
Giversen. Edited by Per Bilde, Helge Kjær Nielsen, Jørgen Podemann Sørensen,
155-165. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press.
Pearson, Birger. 1988. “Use, Authority and Exegesis of Mikra in Gnostic Literature”, in
Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism
and Early Christianity. Edited by Martin Jan Mulder and Harry Sysling, 635-652.
Assen/Maastricht: Van Gorcum.
.
Perkins, Pheme. 2002. The Canon Debate, edited by Lee Martin McDonald and
James A. Sanders, 355-371. Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers.
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Vorstellungen über die Herkunft des Bösen und Schlechten in der Philosophie und Religion des
1.-4. Jahrhunderts. Herausgegeben von Fabienne Jourdan und Rainer HirschLuipold, 101-132. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.
Rudolph, Kurt. 1984. Gnosis: The Nature and History of Gnosticism. Edinburgh: T &T Clark.
Simonetti, Manlio. 1994. Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church: An Historical Introduction to
Patristic Exegesis. Edinburgh: T&T Clark.
Thomassen, Einar. 1993. “The Platonic and the Gnostic Demiurge”, in Apocryphon Severini:
presented to Søren Giversen. Edited by Per Bilde, Helge Kjær Nielsen, Jørgen
Podemann Sørensen, 226-244. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press.
Tröger, Karl-Wolfgang. 1981. “The Attitude of Gnostic Religion towards Judaism as
Viewed in a Variety of Perspectives”. In Colloque international sur les textes de
Nag Hammadi (Québec, 22–25 août 1978). Édité par Bernard Barc, 86-98. Québec:
Les presses de l‟Université Laval.
Williams, Frank, translator. 2009. The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis. Book I (Sects 1-46).
Leiden: Brill.
Williams, Michael Allen. 1996. Rethinking “Gnosticism”: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious
Category. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
133
The preamble of the Gospel according to John...
Petru MOLODEŢ-JITEA *
The preamble of the Gospel according to John –
Its significance in the hermeneutical conflict
between the Bishop Irenaeus of Lyons
and the gnostic school of Valentinus
Abstract: The main purpose of this paper is to highlight a locus communis in the
field of translation studies, namely that a translation is never free of the underlying
assumptions with which one embarks on the difficult journey of rendering a
meaning not only from one language into another, but also within the same
language. As Roman Jakobson once observed, the act of translating is a universal
one and its domain covers both the transfer between two languages, and the
transfer that takes place each moment within the same language (Jakobson 1959,
233). Just as in deciphering utterances within our own language, we constantly act
as interpreters with our own biases and worldviews when we approach ancient
texts, and much more so when we approach a sacred text, our own intimate
assumptions often get the better or the worse of us or anyhow interfere with our
approaching the text. There has never been an empty space between a reader and a
text, but a whole constellation of intentions, figures and texts – in short, a tradition
of some sort or another. This is precisely the case with a text like the Gospel
according to John, and especially with its preamble, which generated, immediately
after its emergence within the oikoumene, an avalanche of interpretations. We shall
endeavor to highlight two of them as being the main contenders of that day,
namely the interpretation offered by the gnostic school of Valentinus, and that of
the Bishop of Lyons, Irenaeus. We shall try to show that the marked differences in
interpreting this same text depend on the evident different doctrines which the two
parties embrace. In doing so, we shall also underline the implications of this
hermeneutical conflict for the subsequent development of the Christian doctrine.
Of main importance for this analysis will be the concept of Tradition, one of the
main pillars of faith used by Irenaeus of Lyons in order to refute and overthrow
(Adversus haereses, II.Pr.2) the gnostic reading (and appropriation) of this Gospel.
The paper will endeavor to answer the rather difficult question of why the
Valentinians lost the doctrinal and hermeneutical battle with, then, not yet the
official contender of the Christian doctrine, as we know it today.
Keywords: doctrine, ideology, interpretation, teaching, tradition
*
University of Bucharest, Romania; email: [email protected]
134
Petru Molodeţ-Jitea
1. The Preamble of the Gospel according to John
in the exegesis of Ptolemaeus’ school
We begin by exposing the kernel of the dispute such as it is presented to us
in the paragraphs 8.5 to 9.3. from the first book of Adversus haereses. Here,
Irenaeus of Lyons offers a summary of the interpretation given by the
Ptolemaeus‟ school to the preamble of the Gospel according to John. The
context is given by the gnostic exegesis of different new testamentary
scriptural texts, which, in the view of Ptolemaeus‟ school, intimate, if read
between the lines, the whole gnostic doctrine of the Pleroma, the generation
of the Aeons in pairs or syzygies, the fall and redemption of the last Aeon,
Sophia, the banishment of its Intention, called Achamoth, from the
Pleroma, the generation of the Demiurge and the subsequent formation of
the lower world.
The paragraphs 8.5. to 9.3. give a rather lengthy report on this kind of
exegesis applied to the Gospel according to John. That this interpretation was
important for the Bishop of Lyons is shown by the fact that Irenaeus is not
satisfied to give only a summary of it (which he usually does when it comes
to the gnostic exegeses), but offers a large quotation either from a work of
Ptolemaeus himself, or from one of his disciples‟ work. The quotation
begins as follows: “John, the Lord‟s disciple, wishing to enounce the genesis
of all things by which the Father emitted all things, establishes a certain
Principle, the first born by God, whom he called also Son and OnlyBegotten, in which the Father emitted all things seminally. John says that
the Logos was emitted by this Principle and within him the entire substance
of the Aeons, to which the Logos himself subsequently gave form. Since,
therefore, John speaks of the first genesis, he rightly begins his teaching
from the Principle, that is, the Son, and from the Logos” (Adversus haereses,
I.8.5). The fragment might be taken as a hermeneutical framework within
which its author inserts and gives (his) meaning to the first verse of the
Gospel according to John. The passage follows immediately afterwards and
cannot be rendered as we are accustomed to read it as In the beginning was the
Word and the Word was unto God, and God was the Word. This was in the beginning
unto God (Jn 1.1-2), but should be translated in this case, keeping in mind the
aforementioned interpretation, by In the Principle was the Logos and the Logos
was unto God and God was the Logos. This was in the Principle unto God. As it is
already clear, the gnostic interpretation hypostatizes the Greek feminine
common noun ἀρχή into a proper name, Ἀρχή, which in the Ptolemaeus
doctrine is the first emanation of the Pre-Father or the Abyss, namely the
Intellect, Only-Begotten, Son, Father of all things and Principle. Thus, the
Logos is only the third Aeon in the process of emanation that begins with
the first Father, and not the Word of God made flesh from the orthodox
doctrine.
135
After the hermeneutical context and the text to be interpreted, the
author begins the actual interpretation as follows: “After John first
distinguished the three terms, God, Principle and Logos, he unites them
again to show both the emanation of each of the two of them, that is, of the
Son and of the Logos, and the union between them, and of both of them to
the Father. For the Principle is in the Father and from the Father, and the
Logos is in the Principle and from the Principle. Thus, he rightly said: In the
Principle was the Logos, for he was in the Son; and the Logos was unto God, for
the Principle was also unto God; and God was the Logos is a logical
consequence, because that which is born from God is God; This was in the
Principle unto God, [saying by which] he showed the order of emanation. All
things were made through him and without him nothing was made (Jn 1.3), for the
Logos was the cause of formation and genesis for all the Aeons that came
into existence after him” (Adversus haereses, I.8.5).
For the Ptolemaic author of this fragment, this interpretation of the first
three verses of the Gospel according to John represents a hermeneutical model
for all the subsequent passages. Reading between the lines, he finds
adumbrated the genesis of the first eight Aeons of the Pleroma. We must
stop here for a moment to recall in a few words the gnostic system of
Ptolemaeus, such as it is exposed by the Bishop of Lyons.
2. Ptolemaeus’ doctrine in the first book of Adversus haereses
At the basis of Ptolemaeus‟ doctrine one can discern a vision of divinity
which is common with the philosophical doctrines of the day. Following the
platonic speculation exposed in Parmenides, Medio-platonic philosophy
emphasizes the unspeakable and unknowable character of the One, who,
properly speaking, cannot receive neither the affirmative, nor the negative
attributes, or, if he receives them, he surpasses them by his absolute
transcendence. This absolute transcendence of the One is represented in the
Ptolemaic system by the one called the Pre-Principle, Pre-Father and Abyss.
This is the basis of the entire Ptolemaic system and the origin of the divine
Pleroma formed by 30 Aeons. As in Platonism, Medio-Platonism and the
Neo-Platonic philosophy, which developed from the third century A.D., the
Ptolemaic gnostic system feels the need of separating the absolute One
from the entities responsible for the formation of the cosmos, because the
supreme God could not be made responsible for the act of creation, if he
were to remain transcendent. Notwithstanding this necessity, in Ptolemaeus‟
doctrine, the Abyss is the origin for the rest of the Aeons which, in the
Valentinian gnostic mythology, are self-subsisting entities and which, from a
philosophical perspective, are considered to be divine dispositions. All the
Aeons are generated in complementary pairs of masculine and feminine
entities. Thus, from the primordial Aeon, the Pre-Father, by fecundation of
136
the Aeon Thought (also called Grace and Silence), it is issued forth the
aeonic pair of Intellect (Νοῦς, also called Only-begotten, Father and
Principle of everything) and Truth. In Ptolemaeus‟ system, this is the
primordial Tetrad. In its turn, the Intellect emanates the pair of Logos and
Life, and from these two are emanated Man and Church. We thus reach the
Ogdoad of Ptolemaeus‟ system. The pair of Logos and Life will emanate ten
other Aeons, that is the Decade, and the pair of Man and Church will give
birth to twelve other Aeons, i.e. the Dodecade. At the end of this process of
emanation the Pleroma reaches its fulfillment of 30 Aeons.
One peculiar feature of the Ptolemaic system is that it posits the
appearance of evil, one of the main philosophical problems that haunted
the antique thought, within the divine Pleroma, and not within the material
cosmos. The one responsible for the birth of evil is, thus, precisely the
divine world, following a catastrophic event that took place in its bosom. In
the gnostic mythology, the last Aeon of the Dodecade and of the
Triacontade, Sophia or Wisdom, gives birth to an Intention or Desire,
accompanied by passion, to know the transcendent Father and to embrace
his greatness, a knowledge that was the strict domain of the Intellect. From
the exposition made by Irenaeus, one may infer that this desire to know the
Pre-Father was infused in the other Aeons by Intellect himself, but that they
craved somewhat moderately to know him without acting towards this end.
This desire becomes an irresistible force in the last Aeon, Sophia, who
launches herself towards the knowledge of the Pre-Father and, consequently,
gives birth to the Intention or Desire, which, although a pneumatic
substance, has no form, for Wisdom has emitted her outside of the natural
contact with her pair. Following this event, through the agency of the OnlyBegotten, the Pre-Father emits another Aeon, the Limit, also named Cross,
who puts an end to the assault of Sophia who risked being wiped out of
existence because of her passion. By the intervention of the Aeon Limit,
Sophia is reestablished within the Pleroma, but her Intention, or Achamoth,
is thrown outside of it. The genesis of the universe begins only in this
moment, for the souls of the Demiurge and of men, and the material
elements are born from the fear, the sorrow and the conversion (or the
attempt to return to the Pleroma) of Achamoth.
Meanwhile, the Pre-Father emits again through the Only-Begotten
another aeonic pair, Christ and Holy Spirit, the function of which is to
prevent a similar future tragedy. For this purpose, the pair sets the Aeons in
order and teaches them that the first Father is unknowable and impossible
to comprise. According to Irenaeus, as a token of their gratefulness, all the
Aeons emitted then a last Aeon, “the star and perfect fruit of Pleroma”,
namely Jesus, also called the Savior. This is the Savior who, according to
Valentinian doctrine, will descend upon the psychic Christ generated by the
Demiurge, and who announced the true God. One can surely recognize
137
here the Docetism of the Valentinian doctrine that denies the incarnation of
the Savior and breaks the unity of Christ‟s Person in a multitude of entities,
either aeonic or not. Exegetically, Ptolemaeus justifies his Christology by
resorting to a peculiar interpretation of the Gospel according to John.
3. The Ogdoad alluded to in the preamble
of the Gospel according to John
As we have seen above, for Ptolemaeus and his followers the preamble of
the Johannine gospel conveyed a hidden knowledge which announced the
genesis of the divine Pleroma and its powers. In the front stage of this
theogony we found the first three Aeons, the supreme God, the Principle
and the Logos. Following the hermeneutical method that he has ascribed to
the reading of John‟s preamble, the Ptolemaic author discovers new Aeons
in the sacred text: “But John continues: What was made in him was Life (Jn
1.4), and here he also indicated the pair of the Logos, for, in his words, all
were made by him, but Life was in him. Consequently, this Life that was in
him, was more closely connected with him than those that were made by
him, because Life is with him and through him bears fruit. And since he
adds And Life was the light of Men (Jn 1.4), by having said “Men” he readily
disclosed by the same name also the Church in order to uncover through a
single name the communion of the pair – for, from [the pair] of Logos and
Life was born [the pair] of Man and Church. […] By these words, then,
John has clearly revealed, amongst other things, also the second Tetrad,
namely Logos and Life, Man and Church. But he truly revealed also the first
Tetrad. For, by speaking about the Savior and by saying that all things
outside of Pleroma have received their form through him, John asserts, at
the same time, that the Savior is the fruit of the entire Pleroma. […] And
John says that he is also Son and Truth and Life and Logos which was made
flesh, whose glory he states we have seen and that his glory was the one that
belonged to the Only-Begotten that was given to him by the Father, full of
Grace and Truth (Jn 1.14). Thus, John has revealed with precision also the
first Tetrad when he mentioned the Father, the Grace, the Only-Begotten
and the Truth. In this manner, he has also mentioned the first Ogdoad,
Mother of all the Aeons, for he has indicated the Father, the Grace, the
Only-Begotten, the Truth, the Logos, the Life, the Man and the Church”
(Adversus haereses, I.8.5).
In rendering this passage, we were again forced to capitalize the common
nouns of “life” and “men”, which thus become proper names for two
Aeons. Reading the whole quotation brought forth by Irenaeus of Lyons,
one can discern a certain structure of interpretation or mode of reading.
First, we have a brief announcement of the doctrine, then the sacred text,
which should give testimony to the doctrine, next the interpretation that,
138
basically, confirms the doctrine. In all this development, the main focus is
the doctrine, and not the sacred text that becomes merely an adjacent –
although a useful – tool for the gnostic revelation. One could get the
impression that he faces what we, as moderns, are acquainted with as a kind
of ideological hermeneutics. In fact, this is precisely the accusation directed
in other words against the Valentinian school by the Bishop of Lyons, who
– as we shall see – says that the Gnostics invented a doctrine (or doctrines)
that afterwards they tried to back by falsifying the Scriptures through
interpretation.
One could reply that this structure of interpretation was superimposed
by Irenaeus‟ reading of the Ptolemaic gnostic corpus and thus does not
pertain to the Gnostic School per se. To find a solution to this problem,
one should analyze similar interpretations made to the same Johannine text
by adherents to the Valentinian doctrine. Fortunately, we have two such
interpretations, one made by Heracleon that can be reconstructed from the
quotations given by Origen in his Commentary to the Gospel according to John,
and the other can be found in what is now known under the title of Excerpts
from Theodotus, fragments that were preserved by the Christian writer
Clement of Alexandria.
One could again retort that, in their turn, these two interpretations are
susceptible of having been twisted by their Christian foes and, thus, could
not be reliable in an attempt to reconstruct the original hermeneutical
structure. Brought to its extreme, this attitude leads the one embracing it to
reject the entire testimony of the first Christian Fathers with regard to the
gnostic doctrines of their day. Moreover, by doing this, it will be implied
that this testimony is a complete falsification, one which was forged to
impose another ideology, namely the doctrine of the Catholic Church. For
this point of view, the discovery of the Nag Hammadi gnostic corpus was a
disappointment, since in broad lines it confirmed the testimony of the first
Christian Fathers regarding the gnostic doctrines of the first two centuries
after Christ. Surely, one could make a strong case against some specifics of
their testimony directed as this was against what was perceived as being a
very dangerous enemy, a foe admittedly attacked more than once with the
weapons of libeling and defamation. Notwithstanding this, the testimony of
the Church Fathers from the first three centuries remains in its general
features a reliable one.
4. Heracleon’s commentary to the Gospel according to John
The first commentary made to the Johannine gospel is considered to be that
of Heracleon‟s. This is important, for it shows us the high place enjoyed by
this sacred text in Valentinus‟ school. In fact, the Gospel according to John
seems to have been used first in gnostic circles before it entered the canon
139
of the New Testament. One might argue that, precisely for this reason, a
Christian writer like Justin the Martyr avoided recognizing it, and
consequently, never quotes the gospel. Some scholars contend (maybe
rightly so) that the gospel was known and accepted in orthodox circles
before Irenaeus of Lyons made of it the summit of the four gospels, but
admit nonetheless that the orthodox party was reluctant in its regard
because of the Johannine gospel‟s being adopted by the Valentinians (Hill,
2004). However that may be, the Gospel according to John played an enormous
role in the controversy between the Valentinians and the orthodox
Christians, and the commentary of Herakleon to it played no small part in
that debate (Thomassen, 2010, 173). It is for this reason that the great
Origen, in his own commentary to the gospel, stops to recall and refute
what he calls the „theory‟ of Heracleon.
The paragraphs 100 to 104 from Book II give us a glimpse of what
Heracleon believed to be the meaning of the Johaninne preamble. Origen is
scandalized by the hermeneutics of this disciple of Valentinus when this one
interprets the verse All things were made through him (Jn 1.3) by saying that the
“all things” spoken of here comprise only the corruptible cosmos, and
“Neither the aeon nor the things in the aeon have been made through
the Word” (Origen, 1989, 120). Furthermore, Heracleon makes a clear
distinction between the Word and the creator of this world or the demiurge:
“The one who provided the creator (τῷ δημιουργῷ) with the cause for
making the world, that is the Word, is not the one „from whom‟, or „by
whom‟, but the one „through whom‟ [it was made]” (Origen, 1989, 121).
The same distinction between the “Father of truth” and the creator or
demiurge is also manifest in a quotation of Heracleon given by Origen in
paragraph 97 from Book XIII (Origen, 1993, 88). One can thus safely say
that, in keeping with the Valentinian doctrine, Heracleon makes a clear
distinction between this corruptible world and the divine world of the Aeon
or the Pleroma. But the most striking Valentinian feature of Heracleon‟s
commentary is the difference he makes between the Word and the
demiurge of this world – a feature implied in the commentary to the same
text made by the Ptolemaic author quoted in Adversus haereses.
That the same hermeneutical structure was applied by Heracleon in
reading the preamble of the Johannine gospel is suggested by Origen‟s
observation that, to the scriptural text Without him nothing was made (Jn 1.3),
the gnostic commentator added, “without warrant from Scripture, the
words „of the things in the cosmos and in the creation‟”. Origen adds
himself that “Nor does he prove this with plausible argument, since he
considers himself worthy to be believed like the prophets or apostles…”
(Origen, 1989, 120-121). Basically, this is the same accusation that Irenaeus
directed against Ptolemaeus‟ school, namely that, when interpreting a text,
the Valentinians force it to mirror the doctrine they embrace.
140
5. The Excerpts from Theodotus
The fragments from Theodotus preserved by Clement of Alexandria offer a
much more striking resemblance of approach. We shall quote the text in full
to observe this similarity.
“The disciples of Valentinus understand the verse In the beginning was the
Word and the Word was unto God and God was the Word (Jn 1.1) in the following
manner. For they say that the Principle (Ἀρχή) is the Only-Begotten, who is
also called God, since he [John] openly declares him in the suite of the text
as being God by saying: The Only-Begotten God, which is in the bosom of the
Father, he has made him known (Jn 1.18). And [John] reveals the Logos, which
was in the Principle (that is, in the Only-Begotten – in Intellect and Truth) to
be the Christ, [that is] – Logos and Life. Thence he says with reason that he
too is God, for he is in the God-Intellect. What was made in him (in the
Logos) was Life (Jn 1.3-4) (that is, his pair). This is the reason why the Lord
said: I am the Life (Jn 11.25; 15.6). Thus, the Father, being unknowable,
wanted to make himself known to the Aeons and through his own Thought
(for he knew himself), which is Pneuma of knowledge in knowledge, he
issued forth the Only-Begotten. So, the one who came forth from
knowledge (that is from the paternal Thought) has become Knowledge, that
is the Son, since the Father was made known through the Son (Jn 1.18; Mt 11.27;
Lk 10.22). And the Pneuma of love (τῆς ἀγάπης) mixed itself with the
Pneuma of knowledge, as the Father with the Son and the Thought with the
Truth, the Knowledge coming forth from Truth as from Thought. And, on
the one hand, the Only-Begotten Son who abided in the bosom of the Father (Jn
1.18) made known to the Aeons through knowledge the Thought [of the
Father], since he himself was issued forth by the bosom of the Father. On
the other hand, the one seen down here is no longer called by the Apostle
Only-Begotten, but as of the Only-Begotten – glory as of the Only-Begotten (Jn 1.14)”
(Extraits de Théodote, 6.1-7.3).
Here, the order of exposition is rearranged. First, we have the sacred text
to be interpreted, the interpretation, and then a brief exposition of the
doctrine. One might suppose that the rearrangement was operated by
Clement himself for exposition reasons. However that may be, one can
discern here the same hermeneutical structure as in the Ptolemaic quotation,
with a superior clarity in the latter, we might add.
We can thus conclude this brief interlude by saying that the quotation
given by Irenaeus in the first book of his Adversus haereses was not at all
randomly chosen and reflected a modus interpretandi common in Valentinus‟
school.
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6. Irenaeus’ refutation of the Ptolemaic interpretation
That the quotation was not randomly chosen is manifest for another
important reason. The use the Valentinians made of the Johannine gospel
and the peril of its appropriation by them triggered in Irenaeus not only a
doctrinal response, but also a passionate one. Irenaeus thought of himself as
being connected to the Apostolic times and teaching by a single and sacred
link, namely Saint Polycarp of Smyrna, the presumed disciple of John the
Apostle. Thus, for Irenaeus the Gnostics‟ use of Johannine gospel was a
blow to his most inner convictions. One can say that this is the reason why
a hermeneutical dispute became for him a personal one. A simple reading of
the entire Adversus haereses could show us that the Gospel according to John is
the most quoted gospel. Moreover, the preamble of this gospel is the most
quoted piece of sacred text in the whole work (Mutschler, 2010, 331, 337).
This makes Irenaeus the first Christian author before Origen to use the
Gospel according to John in such a substantial manner. The Bishop of Lyons
comes back to it again and again, whenever he finds the chance to use the
Johannine gospel against the Valentinians who were the first to promote it.
By so doing, Irenaeus places the Johannine gospel the first in order of
significance – a mark that would endure for centuries after him.
What Irenaeus found most dangerous, wrong and distasteful in the
Valentinian hermeneutics was its method of interpretation. When he begins
his refutation of the Ptolemaic interpretation of the Johannine preamble,
Irenaeus uses the term “stratagem” (ἡ μέθοδος) to disclose the hidden
meaning of his opponents‟ method. “Stratagem” here implies deceitfulness
both with regard to the readers, and to the ones who use it. He literally says
that “by using this stratagem, they deceive themselves, abusing the
Scriptures and trying to forge from them their fiction” (Adversus haereses,
I.9.1). As we have mentioned above, Irenaeus accuses the Ptolemeans of
what we would say today is an ideological attitude in interpreting a text:
“For, inventing their own theory [in advance], then gathering sayings and
names scattered here and there [in the Scriptures], [eventually] they alter
them, as we have already said, [changing] in something unnatural that which
has a natural meaning” (Adversus haereses, I.9.3. – 9.4.). For Irenaeus,
disclosing the gnostic doctrines gives reason enough to refute them, since
he believes that their theories and interpretations are so irrational and out of
reach with reality that a simple unmasking would bring by itself their
overthrowing (Adversus haereses, I.31.3). That this is not at all the case is
shown by the simple fact that Irenaeus embarks on the difficult journey of
refuting the gnostic doctrines using rational arguments and scriptural ones
drawn from both the sacred texts and the authority of what he believes to
be the Apostolic teaching and tradition. Both methods are applied here in
nuce.
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As with the second book of his work, Irenaeus begins here with a
rational refutation of the Ptolemaic interpretation: “For, in the first place, if
John would have proposed himself to reveal the higher Ogdoad, he would
have maintained the order of emanations and would have placed the first
Tetrad (being as they say the most venerable one) among the first names
and then would have added to it the second one so as, through the order of
the names, the order of the Ogdoad might be exhibited, and not at such a
great distance, as if [John] would have completely forgotten it. […] In the
second place, if he would have wanted to intimate the pairs too, he wouldn‟t
have omitted to mention the name of the Church too, but he either would
have been satisfied with regard to the other pairs to name the masculine
Aeons (since the feminine ones might likewise be inferred) so as, through all
the names, to preserve the unity; or, if he had first enumerated the pairs of
the other Aeons, he would have revealed the pair of Man too, and would
not have left us to divine her name” (Adversus haereses, I.9.1.).
Irenaeus confronts here the Valentinian hermeneutical method of
searching in every saying of a scriptural text a hidden meaning with a
rational method of interpretation, which postulates that such a text has a
rational structure. Moreover, such a rational approach begins its
interpretation by establishing the sayings that have been clearly stated so as
to decipher afterwards the more obscure ones. For Irenaeus, if the meaning
of a sacred saying does not reveal its true self, it is best to leave it as it is,
and not to force upon it a fanciful interpretation. For the Bishop of Lyons,
the canon by which one distinguishes the truth is the rational approach
guided by the Apostolic teaching and tradition. He accuses the Gnostics of
lacking both and of using deceitfully plausible reasons and false traditions.
Thus, using the postulate of the rational structure of a sacred text,
Irenaeus refutes the Ptolemaic interpretation by saying that if this one were
true then the text would have had an entirely different structure, but being
such as it is, the interpretation cannot be but false. Next, by beginning with
the sayings that have a clear meaning, Irenaeus shows that the Ptolemaic
interpretation cannot be but patently false. “For, although John proclaims
One Single Almighty God and One Single Only-Begotten, Christ Jesus,
through Whom he says all things have been made, and that He is the Word
of God, He the Only-Begotten, He the Creator of all, He the true Light,
Which enlightens every man, He the Maker of the world, He the One Who
came to His own, He Himself Who has become flesh and dwelt among us,
they nonetheless, perverting the exegesis [of Scriptures] through a plausible
discourse, maintain that, according to the [process of] emanation, another
one is the Only-Begotten, whom they also call Principle, another one who
became Savior, another one the Logos, son of the Only-Begotten, and
another one Christ, the one who was emitted in view of setting aright the
Pleroma” (Adversus haereses, I.9.2.). For Irenaeus, to postulate the existence
143
of different entities based on a text that expressly mentions only one is to
violate it and break its logic. Furthermore, to break the link between the
Word, Which was in the beginning (Jn 1.1) and was God, and the Word, Which
was made flesh and dwelt among us (Jn 1.14), is for Irenaeus at least unreasonable
and unsupported by the text itself.
The Bishop of Lyons concludes that “if some other among the Aeons
would have become flesh for our own salvation, it would have been
possible that the Apostle should speak about another, but since the Word
of the Father Who descended is the same One Who ascended, the OnlyBegotten Son of the One God, the One Who, according to the good
pleasure of the Father, became flesh for the sake of men, John did not
speak neither of some other, nor about some Ogdoad, but about our Lord
Jesus Christ” (Adversus haereses, I.9.3.).
7. Tradition as the criterion for interpretation
As we have already said, Irenaeus supports his refutation not only by means
of rational interpretation, but also by recurring to the authority of the
Apostolic Tradition. For the Bishop of Lyons, Tradition means the teaching
which the Apostles have handed over and which constitutes what he calls
the Canon of Truth (κανών τῆς ἀληθείας: Adversus haereses, I.22.1). Its
truthfulness and reality is assured by the transmission of the Apostolic
charisma of the Holy Spirit through the ages in the succession of the
bishops and presbyters of the Church. Such a succession unites the body of
Christ with its Head. Thus, for Irenaeus, Truth and the criterion for
discerning it cannot be the province of one group of men or of one man
against another, but fully dwells within the symphony of the body of Christ,
which is the Church. This teaching, which constitutes the heart of the
Tradition, needs not be a written testament, for it is the life of the Church
and as such can transmit the same content in different formulations of it.
As a consequence, for Irenaeus the criterion for discerning a true doctrine
or interpretation from a false one becomes the living Tradition of the
Church proclaimed in an uninterrupted chain by the succession of bishops
and presbyters. Using this criterion, Irenaeus utterly rejects what he calls in a
derogatory manner the gnostic „theory‟ (ἡ ὑπόθεσις), a “theory, which
neither the Prophets announced, neither the Lord taught, neither the
Apostles handed down” (Adversus haereses, I.8.1.).
For Irenaeus, the danger posed by the Gnostics was that, by claiming the
same sacred texts and by pretending to follow a hidden tradition and
teaching, they would eventually alter the true Tradition and Teaching and
thus destroy the body of Christ. On the other hand, by claiming for himself
the true reason and knowledge and the true tradition, Irenaeus of Lyons
succeeded in giving a real deathblow to the doctrines he opposed.
144
References
Clément d‟Alexandrie. 1948. Extraits de Théodote. Texte grec, introduction, traduction et
notes de F. Sagnard. Paris : Éditions du Cerf.
Hill, Charles E. 2004. The Johannine Corpus in the Early Church. Oxford : Oxford University
Press.
Irénée de Lyon. 1979. Contre les hérésies. Édition critique par Adelin Rousseau et Louis
Doutreleau, Livre I, Tome II. Paris : Éditions du Cerf.
Jakobson, Roman. 1959. “On linguistic aspects of translation”. In On Translation.
Massachusetts: Harvard University Press: 232-239.
Mutschler, Bernhard. 2010. “John and his gospel in the mirror of Irenaeus of Lyons:
Perspectives of recent research”. In The Legacy of John. Second-Century Reception of the
Fourth Gospel. Edited by Tuomas Rasimus. Leiden-Boston: Brill: 319-343.
Origen. 1989. Commentary on the Gospel according to John. Books 1-10. Translated by Ronald E.
Heine. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press.
Origen. 1993. Commentary on the Gospel according to John. Books 1-10. Translated by Ronald E.
Heine. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press.
Thomassen, Einar. 2010. “Heracleon”. In The Legacy of John. Second-Century Reception of the
Fourth Gospel. Edited by Tuomas Rasimus. Leiden-Boston: Brill: 173-210.
145
Horace: Carmina, I, 38. Epicureanism and vegetal symbols
Emanuel GROSU *
Horace: Carmina, I, 38.
Epicureanism and vegetal symbols
Abstract: The correct understanding of an ancient literature text involves – among
others – a decoding of the symbols used and an interpretation of their semantic
sphere. It is often not enough to consider that a flower, for instance, is a symbol of
love, insofar as the various nuances of the concept may be illustrated – mostly in
lyrical creations – by different plant symbols. In the following lines, we propose an
interpretation of the Horatian poem Carmina, I, 38, from the perspective of both
the Epicurean morals and the plants mentioned. Furthermore, we propose a
Romanian translation of the poem using the original metric system (Sapphica minor).
Keywords: Horace, Carmina, Epicureanism, vegetal symbols, metric system,
Sapphica minor
I.
Designed as a whole, the Horatian odes (Carmina) represent the most
refined expression of lyricism provided by the Venusian poet, though he
wrote them when he was young. Judging by the poem that closes the third
book, the author himself considered it finished and representative for his
entire creation – Exegi monumentum aere perenius... (Carmina, III, 30). On the
date it was published – 23 BC – Horace did not know that he would have to
add another book to the Odes, upon Augustus’ request. Hence, this work
comprises four books of poems of unequal size, of which the first two were
written before 31 BC, the third between 31 and 23 BC, while the last one
between 19 and 13 BC.
The first book contains 38 poems, the second one 20, the third one 30,
and the last one 17. The way they were grouped, except for the last book,
does not respect the chronological criterion. The author grouped them
randomly or maybe following certain criteria known only by him.
II.
“It is highly probable for Horace to have written his odes to be sung,”
Eugen Cizek states (Cizek 1994, 305). This hypothesis is supported mostly
by their organization into stanzas; each poem is a remarkable metric
success, a model of harmony and balance of expression. In a moment of
*
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Emanuel Grosu
self-overestimating, Horace considered himself the initiator of the “Aeolian
songs” (Carmina, III, 30, 13) in Latin poetry. His models of preference, in
terms of both themes and form, are Alcaeus and Sappho, but Pindar or
Anacreon also had some influence upon him. Hence, he had exceptional
masters, from whom he learned those metrical structures that he also used
for less “Aeolian” themes and motifs, considering that the odes also
concern the realities specific to Rome during the reforms of Augustus. The
strophe of Alcaeus or Sappho, of Asclepius, or the various types of distichs
or monostichs represent the dominant rhythms of the Odes. Fairly, a certain
theme cannot be related to a certain rhythm, but each meter involves a
particular musicality; in the opinion of Horace, it serves better both the
intention of the poem and the auctorial sensibility in relation with the
approached topic.
Both the selection of a certain vocabulary and the surprising associations
of grammatical categories that speculate “the inexistence of a fixed order of
words” are related to the melos of poems, too (Cizek 1994, 305). Therefore,
the sometimes confusing but never dull order of words is the result of an
intertwining with the metrics, to which Horace forces his elegant Latin.
Furthermore, the figures of speech, (metaphors, comparisons, metonymies
etc) also seem to support the (deeper or funnier) rhythm and tone of each
poem.
III.
According to Pierre Grimal (apud Cizek 1994), there are four fundamental
themes in the four books of Carmina: love, nature, wisdom and the City. In
this paper, I am interested in the first and the third theme – love and
wisdom – because the poem I am translating and analyzing (Carmina, I, 38)
encompasses them. The interpretation I have provided for this short poem
supports this idea. It has been often and justly stated that in the Odes (and
elsewhere) Horace proves to be a consistent adept of the Epicureans.
Happiness – the purpose of human living – can only be understood from
the perspective of ataraxia, (a spiritual state of quiet and calmness that one
may attain by detachment from the troubles of the world). Apparently, such
endeavour may be undertaken by anyone, but the poet’s insistence upon
this motif makes me believe that he viewed it more like a desideratum. You
can detach yourself from the troubles of the world by being content with a
modest living (Carmina, I, 9; I, 20), by renouncing to personal pride
(Carmina, I, 1), by rejoicing the love and honest friendship of the close ones
(Carmina, I, 22; I, 27), thus cultivating that salubrious ethics based upon the
analysis and dissociation between useful and useless things (Carmina, I, 1; I,
9), warding off the fear of death and passage of time (Carmina, I, 9), or, very
briefly, by adopting an aurea mediocritas (Carmina, II, 10, v. 5), the “golden
mean” between precarious life and extravagant luxury – a genuine
“formula” provided by Horace for attaining ataraxia.
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IV.
“Pleasure is our first and kindred good,” according to Epicurus (Letter to
Menoeceus, 129), it is the “principle and the end of the happy life” (Letter to
Menoeceus, 128). Pleasure must be understood as a double absence: of pain in
the body and of trouble in the soul. (Letter to Menoeceus, 131) However, this
state is not a datum; it may be attained by satisfying our needs, but not all
our needs, just those that express the natural needs of both the body
and the soul. The same Epicurus teaches that desires are unnecessary,
groundless, or natural – the latter are divided, in their turn, into necessary
desires (to secure one’s happiness; to prevent the body from suffering; to
survive) and natural desires (Letter to Menoeceus, 127; Fundamental maxims,
149). Practical wisdom (φρόνησις) must relate these desires to the good of
the soul and of the body; dissociate between them; and select those that
must be fulfilled. As the author warns, one cannot live pleasantly without
“living wisely, finely, and justly” (Letter to Menoeceus, 132). Pleasant life and
the exercise of wisdom, of good and of justice are mutually presumed. The
valuable, namely the wise person is not the one who resizes (like in
Procust’s bed) or even suppresses some of the desires in order to adapt
them to a certain lifestyle, but the one who models/lives his life according
to the perceived natural and necessary desires. A wise man is persuaded that
“what is good is easy to get,” according to the third line of the
tetrapharmakos. This view is based on a very simple assumption: man’s life is
not part of a “superior” life; as such, it must not be considered as submitted
to the life of the polis 1 or of the Cosmos, or as a prelude to another
life. Indissolubly related to pleasure, happiness is experienced by sober
reasoning and by driving out those “opinions” (δόξα) “that cause the
greatest trouble in the soul” (Letter to Menoeceus, 132).
Carpe diem – the favourite advice given by Horace (Carmina, I, 11) – fully
illustrates this perspective; at the same time, it suggests that the individual
has the capacity of assuming such an attitude profitably and the right of
thus becoming the owner of his own life2.
I have already stated above that, according to Epicureans, a wise man
fulfils only the natural and necessary desires, but not the other ones. It is
worth asking the place of carnal desires in this “ascesis”3, while Epicurus
himself highlights as poignantly as possible that, along others, “a pleasant
life is produced not by […] enjoying boys and women” (Letter to Menoeceus,
132). Are not these desires natural? And if they are such, in what
subcategory may we include them? Unnecessary? Necessary for happiness,
to “keep the body untroubled” or to survive? (Cf. Letter to Menoeceus, 127)
Alternatively, maybe this statement, whereas confusing because it eliminates
pleasure from the very place (table or alcove) we would expect to find it
most, does not contradict at all the Epicurean doctrine. While exulting
pleasure and making it the purpose (τέλος) of life, Epicurus – just like his
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Emanuel Grosu
disciples – condemned all excesses as generating disquietude. He considered
an excess both the passionate love for one person (Cornea 2016, 177-178),
and the uncontrolled abandonment to a torrent of impulses. On the
contrary, Epicurus points out, pleasures must be measured in order to avoid
from choosing “any pleasure,” because without “sober reasoning, searching
out the cause of everything we accept or reject” (Letter to Menoeceus, 132)
there is no pleasant life. In other words, whereas pleasure is a purpose per
se, pleasant life is still a matter of option, a consequence of a selection
operated by practical wisdom, thus superior to philosophy – an occasion for
Epicurus to unite pleasure with virtuous life and pleasant life.
V.
This is practically the suggestion of the brief Horatian poem that I have
chosen to translate and comment. The very first line rejects drastically (odi,
“I hated”) the pleasures that Epicurus had called “empty” (κεναί), namely
neither natural nor necessary: the splendour, the pomp, considered useless
for the cultivation of natural pleasures to which human beings may aspire
justly, without the risk of inconveniences. In exchange, it is wise to choose a
simple, complication-free, natural setting (sub arta vite), where one can taste
peacefully any kind of wine – “four winters old,” as he demanded from
Thaliarchus (Carmina, I, 9), “sec Falern” (Carmina, I, 27) or cheap Sabine wine
(vile potabis ... Sabinum; Carmina, I, 20), which he offered to Maecenas
himself.
Otium is seen here as a mere moment of detachment lacking even
meditation as a rest, as refusal of all activity or implication (negotium)4 in
more or less important everyday matters. From this perspective, the two
stanzas are an echo of the first poem within the first book Carmina, I, 1). In
this poem, while addressing to Maecenas, Horace states that these very
moments of otium separate him from the vulgus (me ... secernunt populo) for
which fame, desire to become rich or military glory are meanings of life. A
glass of wine in a simple setting are, Horace advises, enough of a reason to
renounce temporarily to a multitude of concerns.
However, it is not just the wine. This short poem comprises four
elements in the absence of which the two stanzas would be a quiet and wellfit advice for a young slave (puer) in order to prepare everything for his
master’s relaxation moment: the linden, the roses, the myrtle and the vine.
Except for the vine, the three other plants are symbols associated with love,
but each symbol has a different particularity. A brief incursion into
mythology may help us understand them better.
Gaius Iulius Hyginus (Fabulae, 138) narrates that, scared of the strange
creature that she had just birthed (the centaur Chiron, whose father was
Chronos), the sea-goddess Philyra asked Zeus to transform her into another
creature; hence, the god turned her into a linden tree. Another legend states
149
that, while crossing Phrygia, Zeus and Hermes where properly welcomed
only in the hut of Philemon and Baucis5. Because they wished to reward
them for their hospitality, the gods granted them the privilege of dying
together, on the same day, as they had lived, thus showing to everyone
around an admirable example of fidelity. The death per se was not an
ending, but a metamorphosis: Philemon turned into an oak tree, while
Baucis into a linden tree. Therefore, in both legends the linden tree is
associated with love and time (Chronos). Especially in the legend of
Philemon and Baucis, the linden tree is a symbol of steady, durable, longliving conjugal love (a replica of tree longevity), of effort, pleasant to the
gods, of maintaining throughout the entire life their spiritual connection. Of
course, such option exults the virtues and subordinated individual life to
values that are not related to pleasure.
Similarly, we should analyze the myth of Adonis in order to understand
that the rose – associated to the cult of Aphrodite (Venus) – the most
beloved flower of the goddess of love, according to Anacreon (Odes, 53, 8),
was the symbol of love, but of passionate love, which causes pain even if
eventually it proves capable of conquering even death. In Epitaph for Adonis,
Bion of Smyrna says that roses were born from the hero’s drops of blood,
while anemones were born from the goddess’s tears. Another version of the
myth mentions that the blood of Adonis created the anemones (Ovid,
Metamorphoses, X, 681-739), while roses turned red because of Aphrodite’s
blood; she had run to save her beloved. In both versions, rose is associated
with both love and pain. The same occurred in the afore-cited Epitaph by
Bion, where Aphrodite, grieving the death of Adonis, laments that “the rose
flies his lip” (Epitaph for Adonis, line 11).
Seemingly paradoxically, the poem in question is the only one where
roses, constantly associated – as one should expect – with feasts and private
parties (Carmina, I, 36; II, 3; II, 11; III, 19; III, 29), are rejected. In Carmina,
III, 15 they are not recommended to a middle-aged woman named Chloris;
we are not sure of what she is suggested: to give up of feasts and parties,
symbolized by the musical instrument (cithara), wine and purple roses,
maidens’ games (flos purpureus rosae) and parties (non citharae decent […] nec poti
vetulam faece tenus cadi)? Rose was frequently used for the wreaths of
participants to private parties. Because such wreathes had no civic or
military glory, Pliny the Elder6 notes that “The employment of the rose in
chaplets is, so to say, the least use that is made of it” (Naturalis historia, XXI,
10). Pliny the Elder mentioned earlier the chaplets used as offering to the
gods, the Lares, the Manes, or in religious ceremonies.
In the other aforementioned poems, Horace wishes both roses and
wine7. In this poem, the poet refuses them and he prefers “plain myrtle,” a
symbol of erotic pleasure, of carnal desire that despises both fidelity and
pain or sacrifice. Like the rose, myrtle was also dedicated to Venera
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Emanuel Grosu
(Aphrodite): according tot a version of the myth, the goddess used myrtle
leaves to cover herself from the voluptuous looks of the satyrs. Similarly,
out of the three Graces within the cortege of Aphrodite, Euphrosyne was
represented holding a myrtle bouquet, while Erato, the muse of love poems,
wore a chaplet made of myrtle leaves. To support the interpretation
provided for this symbol, we add the Veneralia festival, celebrated April 1
(the Kalends of Aprilis) and dedicated to Venus Verticordia. During the
ritual, women adorned the statue of the love goddess with rose flowers;
afterwards, covered in myrtle branches, they went to the public baths of
men and, after offering incense to Fortuna Virilis, they obtained the
“privilege” of hiding their physical faults from men8.
As for the vine, a Dionysian /Bacchic symbol par excellence, it suggests
gaiety, joy of life, pleasure of enjoying life and forgetting at least for a while
all worries and concerns.
Hence, by refusing both the linden tree and the roses and by preferring
the myrtle and vine, Horace invites his slave (puer) to a moment of
relaxation (otium), but spiced up with all temptations. Lacking fidelity (a
virtue highlighted by Christian faith) and passion (so venerated by
romantics), what Horace wants is love/pleasure. The last does not entail
responsibility, inner tension; love/pleasure avoids extremes (namely
excesses: one love or too many loves9) and it can be seen as the golden
mean (aurea mediocritas) that a wise man adopts in order to attain ataraxia,
which is the ideal of Epicureans.
As for the word puer, any serious dictionary mentions the love-related
connotation of the term, along with the age category to which the noun
refers.
There is nothing strange in this interpretation insofar as – irrespective
of the popularity of his odes for feminine figures (Lydia, Glycera, Chloe,
Lalage, etc) – in the Epodes (11, 24) the same Horace complains about his
separation from Inachia and he finds solace and even brags about his love
for Lyciscus (amor Lycisci me tenet). Furthermore, in Odes (IV, 1: Me nec femina,
nec puer […] Ligurine; IV, 10) he invokes another puer called Ligurinus. This
type of behaviour – careless would be an understatement from the
perspective of Christian morals – may have driven Suetonius to use in Vita
Horatii the both neutral and ambiguous term of scortum (translatable by both
“female companion” and “male companion”), though the historian had
several feminine terms to choose from: nam speculato cubiculo scorta dicitur
habuisse disposita...
We will not provide here further detail regarding such practices of mos
maiorum, despite the fact that the Latin vocabulary fails to make a genuine
distinction between gender identity and romantic preferences. It is sufficient
to remind that, at least after the conquest of Greece – thus long before the
Augustan period – puer had become a viable, non-incriminated, socially
151
acceptable alternative for cives (with role-related limitations), practiced in all
social settings. In other words, these practices lost their value of reference
point in the assessment of a person’s morality.
Considering the aim of this paper, it would be more useful to discuss
metrics. I have pinpointed above that a certain theme cannot be related to a
certain rhythm. I will provide an example in this respect: the stanza Saphica
minor, for instance, covers in the odes all four major themes: love (Carmina,
I, 25; II, 4 etc.), nature (Carmina, III, 18), wisdom (Carmina, II, 10; II, 16),
the City (Carmina, III, 14; IV, 2). However, the use of a certain metric
system confers upon the poem a specific tonality – deeper, funnier, more
joyful or more serene – that illustrates the author’s perception of the topic
and the way he understands to convey it. Therefore, whereas ideas, motifs
may be illustrated without any loss even in prose, if one should decide to
translate a poem without using the metric system, this would entail a
limitation of the author’s tone. Furthermore, it would lose a part of the
sensibility or of the author’s method for conveying this theme (impressed
differently in various moments of his life) or the various nuances of the
same theme. Naturally, modern languages fail to distinguish between long
and short vowels, which are practically the foundation of ancient meters.
However, the alternation between accented and unaccented syllables
approximates well enough the harmony of the original; hence, the effort is
worthwhile.
Instead of conclusions, I have chosen to present the last poem of the
first book of the Odes (Carmina, I, 38), in original and in the metric version
that I propose. Our hope is that, in a future edition of the Horatian odes, it
will replace the version of Titu Dinu (this version is indeed accurate, but it
fails to respect the metric requirements).
Persicos odi, puer, apparatus,
displicent nexae philyra coronae;
mitte sectari rosa quo locorum
sera moretur.
Fastul l-am urât de la perşi, copile,
nici din tei cununi răsucite nu-mi plac,
nu-ncerca să ştii roze-ntârziate
unde adastă.
Simplici myrto nihil allabores
sedulus, curo: neque te ministrum
dedecet myrtus, neque me sub arta
vite bibentem.
Rugu-te să nu te-ngrijeşti de alte,
simplu mirt s-aduci: sub umbrar de viţă,
mie care beau, chiar şi ţie, servul,
ni se cuvine.
Notes
“... l’epicureismo ... era fondamentalmente un sistema centrato sull’io, su un io che
misurava ogni cosa sul vantaggio dell’individuo e che rifiutav a al tutto sociale ogni
superiorità riguardo all’individuo...” (Maritain 1999, 84-85).
1
152
Emanuel Grosu
Andrei Cornea considers it “«the good news» of the Epicurean gnosis” (Cornea 2016, 64).
Ascesi della distensione (Maritain 1999, 84). Cf. also Cornea 2016, 67, 148, 164.
4 “The thematic system of the odes encompasses a unitary and far-reaching view,
determined by the thematic confrontation between negotium and otium...” (Nichita 1980, 25).
5 A legend later narrated by Ovid in Metamorphoses, VIII, 610-724.
6 Mentions on the use of roses for guest chaplets are also found in Cicero, De finibus bonorum
et malorum, II, 20, 65 or in Marţial, Epigrammata, III, 68.
7 ...symbols of life, according to Barbara K. Gold (1993, 21).
8 To be (more) desired. See Ovid, Fasti, IV, 133 sqq. Cf. also Pliny the Elder, Naturalis
historia, XV, 120. For myrtle as a symbol of love, see also Mercatante 2001, sv “Mirto”,
where iut is stated that Romans associated myrtle with “incestuous and unfaithful love.”
9 See note 4 above.
2
3
References
Cizek Eugen. 1994. Istoria literaturii latine (History of Latin Literature). Vol. I. Bucharest:
Societatea “Adevărul SA”.
Cornea Andrei. 2016. Epicur şi epicureismul antic. Viaţa şi opera lui Epicur, fragmente doxografice,
interpretare, note (Epicure and ancient Epicureanism. The life and work of Epicure,
doxographic fragments, interpretation, notes). Iaşi-Bucharest: “Alexandru Ioan Cuza”
University Press Iaşi – Humanitas.
Diogenes Laertios. 1997. Vieţile şi doctrinele filosofilor (Lives and Opinions of Eminent
Philosophers). Translated by C.I. Balmuş, introductory study and notes by Aram M.
Frenkian. Iaşi: Polirom.
Gold Barbara K. 1993. “Mitte Sectari, Rosa Quo Locorum Sera Moretur: Time and Nature
in Horace's Odes”. Classical Philology 88, no. 1 (Jan., 1993): 16-31.
Grilli Alessandro (ed.). 2014. Adone. Variazioni sul mito (Adonis. Variations on the
Myth). Venice, Marsilio (Grandi classici tascabili).
Hesiod – Orfeu. 1987. Poeme (Poems). Translation, preface, presentations and notes by Ioan
Acsan. Bucharest: Minerva.
Horace. 1980. Opera omnia (Complete Works), vol. I, edition, introductory study, notes and
indices by Mihai Nichita. Bucharest: Univers.
Maritain Jaques. 1999. La filosofia morale. Esame storico e critico dei grandi sistemi (Moral
Philosophy. Historical and Critical Examination of the Great Systems). Brescia:
Morcelliana.
Mercatante Anthony S. 2001. Dizionario universale dei miti e delle leggende (The Facts on File
Encyclopaedia of World Mythology and Legend), sv “Afrodite”, “Mirto”. Milano:
Mondolibri.
Ovidiu. 1959. Metamorfoze (Metamorphoses). Translation, introductory study and notes by
David Popescu. Bucharest: Editura Ştiinţifică.
Plinius cel Bătrân. 2002-2003. Naturalis historia (Natural History). Vol. III-IV, edition,
preface, notes, appendices and index by Ioana Costa. Iaşi: Polirom.
153
Origène et les limites de l’interprétation: littéral et anagogique
Florin CRÎŞMĂREANU *
Origène et les limites de l’interprétation:
littéral et anagogique
Abstract: In the present paper, I shall try to examine certain elements of Origen’s
exegesis in the wider context of Christian hermeneutics. My aim is to analyse a
metamorphosis that occurred sometime during the early Christian centuries,
namely the transition from a dual reading [literal and spiritual – 2 Corinthians 3:6]
to “the doctrine of the four senses of Scripture” [John Cassian]. I find
Schleiermacher’s “hermeneutical arch” to be interesting and rich in hermeneutical
significations, since, by appealing to the distinction between the literal and the
psychological interpretations, it points back, with some important nuances, to the dual
reading mentioned by Apostle Paul. The reductionism of modern hermeneutics
chooses to ignore or, at best, to marginalize other types of reading that were
dominant during other times in history. It is in this interval [zwischen] that makes,
after all, hermeneutics possible [H.-G. Gadamer] I will try to place the allegorical
interpretation that makes Origen so notorious and by which he is often
condemned. In my opinion, and this is the aspect that I shall try to argue in my
paper, the fundamental reading for the Alexandrine theologian, that is, the one he
favours again and again, is not the allegorical, but the anagogical one.
Keywords: Origen, exegesis, limits of interpretation, allegory, anagoge
I.
Fr. Nietzsche affirmait dans la Volonté de puissance que « Il n’y a pas de faits.
Il n’y a que des interprétations » (Nietzsche 1999, 317). Quand même, quelle
que soit la manière d’interprétation dont on parle, celle-ci se déploie entre au
moins deux limites, inférieure et respectivement supérieure, à savoir entre le
sens littéral et le sens anagogique. Si, parfois, il se peut que le sens anagogique
manque, en revanche le sens littéral est tout indispensable ; en l’absence de
celui-ci [du sens littéral] on ne peut parler d’un texte et d’autant moins d’un
acte herméneutique.
Comme on le sait bien, le terme d’interprétation provient du latin
interpretatio, qui avait, initialement, un sens commercial, c’est-à-dire qu’il ne
désignait que l’acte de négociation du prix d’un produit au marché. Chez les
anciens Grecs ce terme [έρμηνευτική] avait pourtant un sens spéculatif. Pour
Aristote, par exemple, l’interprétation était un acte par lequel on prédique
* Research Department, Faculty of Philosophy and Socio-Political Sciences, “Alexandru
154
Florin Crîşmăreanu
quelque chose à propos de quelque chose d’autre : « hermeneia (interpretatio)
est l’expression ou la manifestation verbale d’une pensée, d’un sens »
(Aristote 1997, 149). Mais, d’autre part, les sophistes avaient une manière
tout particulière d’« interpréter » : ils « martelaient » les textes pour s’en
servir au but désiré. Cette « interprétation » est fort similaire à l’utilisation des
textes dont parle R. Rorty dans ses études (Rorty 2004, 82-100; Eco 1996,
35-36).
Bien que l’interprétation (au sens large, non-limité à l’interprétation des
textes écrits) ait toujours accompagné les préoccupations humaines,
jusqu’au XVIIe siècle, cette activité n’a pas eu un nom à elle. Le latin
hermeneutica n’est qu’une translitération de l’adjectif έρμηνευτική, déjà présent
chez les anciens Grecs. Le terme apparaît pour la première fois dans le
corpus platonicien, où il a un sens religieux, relatif à l’art de la divination. Il
existe quand même dans les textes platoniciens une distinction entre μαντική
[l’art divinatoire] et έρμηνευτική (interprétation au sens large)1. Tout comme
προφήτης dans la littérature grecque, et non seulement, έρμηνής remplit une
fonction intermédiaire, celle de médiateur entre les dieux et les humains.
L’herméneutique a donc d’emblée le rôle d’une action médiatrice. Hermès luimême est un dieu médiateur entre les autres dieux et les hommes.
Après l’apparition du terme latin hermeneutica, au XVII e siècle, on
comprend l’herméneutique comme art ou comme science de l’interprétation.
Ainsi, après la Renaissance, on institue, de manière explicite ou implicite,
des herméneutiques théologiques (hermeneutica sacra), philologiques ou
philosophiques (hermeneutica profana) et juridiques (hermeneutica juris). L’idée
d’un art de l’interprétation (ars interpretandi) n’est pourtant entièrement
nouvelle, elle était déjà présente chez les Pères de l’Église, qui s’étaient
inspirés des théories philoniennes et stoïciennes sur l’allégorie (αλλεγορία).
L’art de l’interprétation (l’herméneutique) acquiert des valences nouvelles
avec l’expansion du christianisme. Dans ce sens, « la préoccupation
constante des premiers théologiens chrétiens était moins d’interpréter les
Écritures mais plutôt d’interpréter Jésus dans les Écritures » (Neamţu 2007,
67). Avec l’imposition du christianisme voilà donc un nouveau dilemme
surgir pour les exégètes : « comment concilier l’Ancien Testament avec la
doctrine de Jésus »? Il est hors de doute que ce fut l’allégorie qui a donné
la solution de ce grand problème exégétique. Tout simplement, c’est
Jésus-Christ qui parfait et qui éclaircit les textes de l’Ancien Testament (In. 5,
39; 5, 46). Cette interprétation allégorisante de l’Ancien Testament a reçu,
beaucoup plus tard – au XIXe siècle – le nom de « typologie ». L’objectif de
cette manière d’interpréter les Saintes Écritures est de rappeler dans l’Ancien
Testament ces typoi, préfigurations de Jésus-Christ. Ainsi, par exemple, le
sacrifice d’Isaac par Abraham annonce Jésus sacrifié par le Père ; les trois
jours que Jonas passe dans le ventre du poisson symbolisent le temps écoulé
entre la Mort et la Résurrection de Jésus e.a.2. L’interprétation typologique
155
est fréquente depuis les textes d’Origène déjà. Par exemple, « le bienheureux
Jésus fils de Navé, véritable typos du Christ » (Origène 2006a, 607).
Typos = forme, figure, a, paraît-il, 53 occurrences dans les textes qui nous
parvenus d’Origène (Muraru 2006c, 37).
L’allégorie renvoie donc toujours à un sens supérieur, insaisissable au
premier abord, auquel ne peut accéder que l’initié, l’interprète compétent.
Dimension élevée du sens, que Dieu lui-même a voilé, en la protégeant ainsi
contre le lecteur, l’interprète commun. La « clé » de l’Écriture3 n’est livrée
qu’au cercle restreint de ceux-là qui se sont avérés dignes de ce sens.
II.
Un exégète tel qu’Origène (184/5-253/4), sur lequel nous nous attarderons
ci-dessous, a découvert une pareille clé d’interprétation de la Bible dans un
verset du Livre des Proverbes 22, 20: « ecce descripsi eam tibi tripliciter in
cogitationibus et scientia »; aspect qui allait déterminer le grand alexandrin
de parler dans le Traité des principes, livre IV, du sens corporel, du sens
pneumatique et du sens spirituel (voir également Homilia in Leviticum 5, 5:
« Triplicem namque in scripturis divinis intelligentiae inveniri saepe diximus
modum: historicum, moralem, mysticum; unde et corpus inesse ei et
animam ac spiritum intelleximus »). Cette trichotomie correspond à la
division testamentaire, mais à celle philonienne aussi, qui reprend la
tripartition platonicienne entre corps, âme et esprit. A notre avis, Origène se
différencie quand même par rapport à Philon en ce qui concerne l’allégorie,
par cela qu’il offre une interprétation fort marquée de la dimension
christologique, absente, bien sûr, chez Philon d’Alexandrie.
La conception origénienne sur les trois sens des Écritures allait devenir
au Moyen Age la « doctrine des quatre interprétations » : le sens littéral, le
sens allégorique, le sens moral et le sens anagogique (de Lubac 1959-1964). La
première formulation définitive de cette doctrine est à retrouver dans
l’ouvrage de Saint Jean Cassien (360-430/435), Conférences 14, 8: « La théorie
se divise en deux parties, c’est-à-dire l’interprétation historique et
l’intelligence spirituelle [...]. La science spirituelle, à son tour, comprend trois
genres : la tropologie, l’allégorie et l’anagogie ». A la rigueur, mutatis mutandis, Jean
Cassien prend pour point de départ le texte de l’Apôtre Paul : « Et
maintenant, frères, de quelle utilité vous serais-je, si je ne vous parlais par
révélation, ou par connaissance, ou par prophétie, ou par doctrine? » (1 Cor. 14, 6).
Au Moyen Age tardif, Augustin de Dace résume cette doctrine par un
fameux adagio: litera gesta docet, quid credas allegoria, moralis quid agas, quo tendas
anagogia.
Comme on peut l’observer ci-dessus, l’allégorie ne s’identifie pas
totalement avec l’interprétation spirituelle. L’interprétation spirituelle inclut
tant l’allégorie, la morale que l’anagogie. Et ici une question nous apparaît
comme justifiée : comment a-t-il été possible le passage d’une lecture
156
duale (littérale et spirituelle – 2 Cor. 3, 6) à la « doctrine des quatre
interprétations »?
Une possible réponse est à entrevoir si l’on signale un fait, croyons-nous,
important : malgré toute l’opposition de la Réforme contre l’autorité
religieuse (ou de quelque nature qu’elle soit) on constate un épanouissement
de l’herméneutique à cette époque-là. Mais de quel épanouissement de
l’herméneutique serait-il question, vu que la tradition médiévale s’est
constamment préoccupée de l’interprétation des textes ? Il s’agit d’une
théorie de l’interprétation, qui ne mettra l’accent que sur la composante
littérale 4, au détriment des trois autres sens : allégorique, moral
(tropologique) et anagogique (peu à peu, les trois derniers sens allaient être
de moins en moins invoqués dans l’interprétation). Cet aspect est
présent également dans l’herméneutique de Schleiermacher, qui ajoute à
l’interprétation littérale (considérée comme insuffisante pour récupérer un
sens originaire) la dimension psychologique. Alors, le cercle ouvert par Saint
Paul [la distinction entre la lettre et l’esprit : « la lettre tue, mais l’esprit vivifie »
(2 Cor. 3, 6)] se ferme environ 1800 ans plus tard par la distinction que
Schleiermacher dresse, entre l’interprétation littérale et celle psychologique. La
conséquence de ces métamorphoses n’est point négligeable : deux sur les
quatre sens de l’interprétation disparaissent presque entièrement de la
pratique exégétique. D’où la nécessité de revenir, autant que possible, à une
lecture anagogique, et même à une allégorique, par une seule raison : les textes
nous rencontrent parfois même sur le chemin de Damas.
III.
Chose difficile à réaliser pour la plupart d’entre nous, car l’interprétation
allégorique est inacceptable pour l’homme de nos jours, et cela à cause de
son arbitraire. L’allégorie, comme son nom l’indique aussi (du point de vue
étymologique, allégorie signifie « dire autre chose que ce qui est dit »), elle
renvoie à quelque chose d’autre, implique un référent extérieur, et elle ne
caractérise pas l’Alexandrie seulement, étant présente tant en Égypte qu’en
Grèce. Par exemple, Xénophane et Platon ont utilisé eux aussi le procédé
allégorique, en considérant que l’interprétation littérale des poèmes
d’Homère porterait atteinte aux dieux. Mais ce procédé aidait les anciens
Grecs à comprendre les lieux cachés de l’œuvre homérique. Donc,
l’allégorie ne cache, elle dévoile uniquement. Faisons la différence entre le
procédé allégorique et l’allégorie, car le terme de hyponia (sens subjacent) utilisé
dans l’interprétation figurée précède le terme d’allégorie. Ce n’est qu’au Ier siècle
av. J. C. que hyponia a laissé la place à un terme emprunté au vocabulaire de
la grammaire : l’allégorie. Paul Desharme considère que ce terme – allégorie –
n’apparaît pas avant Cicéron, et que Plutarque est le premier écrivain grec à
l’utiliser. Si, quant à l’étymologie, les choses en sont ainsi, en revanche, pour
la plupart des exégètes, c’est Théagène de Rhégion (Ve siècle av. J.-C.) qui
157
inaugure, dans l’espace grec, le procédé allégorique. En Alexandrie, avant
Philon, l’allégorie avait été utilisée par Aristobule (Buffière 1987).
Ce qui est certain c’est qu’au début de l’ère chrétienne il se passe quelque
chose avec l’allégorie. « Le commencement de la philosophie chrétienne en
Alexandrie n’est pas lié à un chrétien, mais à un Juif qui, bien que
christianisé, est resté fidèle à la religion juive ; et ce Juif, c’est Philon
d’Alexandrie » (Methodios Foughias, Métropolite de Pisidie) (Philon 2006).
Le locus philonicus par excellence est représenté par l’allégorie, même si Philon
ne définit nulle part sa propre méthode allégorique. Il applique l’allégorie de
manière systématique aux textes de l’Ancien Testament. A son avis, Dieu
laisse dans les textes de l’Ancien Testament quelques indices autorisant
l’interprétation allégorique. Par exemple, Le livre de la Genèse parle des arbres
du Paradis, qui sont différents par rapport aux arbres sur la terre ; ce qui
signifie que le sens littéral ne suffit pas. Philon compare la relation entre le
sens littéral et le sens allégorique à la relation entre corps et âme, dont
l’efficience historique est certaine. L’allégorie renvoie donc toujours à un
sens supérieur, insaisissable au premier abord, auquel ne peut accéder que
l’initié, l’interprète compétent. Dimension élevée du sens, que Dieu
lui-même a voilé, en la protégeant ainsi contre le lecteur, l’interprète
commun. La clé de l’Écriture n’est livrée qu’au cercle restreint de ceux-là qui
se sont avérés dignes de ce sens (le motif de la clé apparaît également dans le
Nouveau Testament, Lc. 11, 52 et Apoc. 3, 7).
Donc, l’universalisation de l’allégorie, accomplie en Alexandrie avec
Philon et Origène, s’est trouvée en opposition avec l’école exégétique
d’Antioche, qui privilégiait le sens littéral, historique, et dont les
représentants marquants ont été : Diodore de Tarse [ý 394], Jean
Chrysostome (349-407) et Théodoret de Cyr (393-460).
Chose bien connue, dans la littérature de spécialité on appelle Origène
« prince des allégoristes chrétiens » (Muraru 2006a, 91). Quand même,
Origène parle dans Contra Celsum III, 23 de la légitimité des allégories. A la
rigueur, l’interprétation n’est rien d’autre qu’une réécriture du texte initial. Il
est vrai que, en allégorisant un texte, on lui attribue une signification qu’à
l’évidence le texte ne possède pas, il faut le mettre en relation avec autre
chose. Malgré sa puissance – elle peut même tuer (II Cor. 3, 6) –, la lettre
n’est pas suffisante, il convient de la compléter (ou de l’accomplir) par
l’interprétation dans l’Esprit, conversion comparable à la métamorphose du
pain en Eucharistie. A ce propos, Origène affirme que « dans les Évangiles
aussi il y a la “lettre” qui “tue”. La “lettre” qui “tue” n’apparaît pas
seulement dans l’Ancien Testament, mais dans le Nouveau Testament aussi
on a la “lettre” qui “tue” celui qui perçoit ce qui a été écrit d’une manière
non-spirituelle. Car si tu suivais littéralement cette parole même, “Si vous ne
mangez pas Mon corps et vous ne buvez pas Mon sang…”, cette “lettre
tuerait”. Veux-tu que je te présente une autre “lettre” des Évangiles qui
“tue”? “Celui qui n’à point d’épée vende son vêtement et achète une épée”.
158
Voilà, cette “lettre” est elle aussi des Évangiles, mais elle “tue”. Mais si tu
l’interprètes du point de vue spirituel, elle ne tue pas, mais elle contient
“l’esprit qui vivifie”. C’est pourquoi tu dois considérer les sentences, soit de
la Loi, soit des Évangiles, de façon spirituelle, car “l’homme spirituel, au
contraire, juge de tout et il n’est lui-même jugé par personne” » [Homilia in
Leviticum 7, 5].
D’autre part, dans Homilia in Exodum X, 3, Origène affirme que « la
perspective de l’allégorie, qui s’ouvre d’habitude toujours plus largement, est
pour nous restreinte ». C’est un aspect qui justifierait, à notre avis, le passage
à un niveau différent d’interprétation, c’est-à-dire l’anagogie. Dans une
certaine étape de l’exégèse, Origène prend conscience du fait que
l’interprétation allégorique est restrictive, ce qui impose le passage à un autre
niveau de l’interprétation.
Un auteur tel que le prêtre professeur Constantin Corniţescu affirme
dans l’un de ses textes que « le sens allégorique supprime le sens littéral,
tandis que le sens anagogique ne supprime pas ce sens, mais il l’accompagne
et le complète en y ajoutant une idée plus élevée » (Corniţescu 1980, 317).
Affirmation qui, surtout pour sa première partie, n’est pas entièrement vraie,
parce que, du point de vue logique, le sens allégorique ne saurait pas
« supprimer » le sens littéral. L’argument contre cette affirmation peu
réfléchie est bien simple : pour arriver à une lecture morale, allégorique ou
anagogique il faut partir d’un sens premier qui n’est autre que le sens littéral.
Or, une lecture supérieure, plus profonde, ne peut pas supprimer tout
simplement le sens premier, littéral ; elle peut le surpasser en profondeur, en
nuances, mais elle ne peut aucunement le supprimer. A l’appui de notre
argument vient également l’affirmation de Théodoret de Cyr : « L’Apôtre
divin a dit <exprimées par allégorie>, en non <entendues autrement>. Car
il n’a pas annulé l’histoire, mais il nous enseigne les choses préfigurées
(προτυπωθέντα) dans l’histoire (Interpretatio in XIV Epistulas Sancti Pauli) »
(Muraru 2006c, 25). « L’histoire » ne signifie rien d’autre que « l’interprétation
historique », privilégiée par l’École d’Antioche, dont Théodoret était, parmi
d’autres, le représentant.
IV.
Comme bien le remarque le traducteur A. Muraru, « l’acte d’interprétation
devient, pour Origène, acte synergique : “Les faits du prélat sont les deux
suivants, soit d’apprendre de Dieu” (“Deum esse qui docet hominem
scientiam”), en lisant les Saintes Écritures et en méditant souvent, soit
d’enseigner au peuple. Mais enseigner ce qu’ils avaient appris de Dieu, et
non ce qu’ils ont “dans leur âme”, ni ce que l’homme pense, mais ce que
l’Esprit leur a enseigné (Homilia in Leviticum VI, 6) » (Muraru 2006c, 37). Or,
pour nous limiter à l’allégorie, nous considérons qu’il est impossible
d’accomplir cette interprétation synergique, théandrique, s’il nous est permis
d’utiliser ce terme dionysiaque.
159
L’interprète est un « Logo-phore », un « porte-Parole et, à la fois, un
serviteur de Celle-ci par l’acte de l’interprétation » (Popa 2001, 162). Chez
Origène, la lecture des Écritures en clé christologique est justifiée par
l’incarnation dans les lettres de l’Écriture : « Notre Seigneur, Jésus-Christ, est
unique par sa substance et il n’est autre que le Fils de Dieu. Il est pourtant
représenté par les figurations et par les formes des Écritures dans des
manières différentes et variées » (Origène 2006a, 403).
Dans ce contexte, il nous apparaît comme également intéressant le
passage suivant des Écritures : « Personne n’a jamais vu Dieu ; le Fils
unique, qui est dans le sein du Père, est Celui qui l’a fait connaître
(ἐξηγήσατο – exēgēsato) »5 (Jean 1, 18; voir aussi Actes 15, 14; Job 28, 27). Le
terme ἐξηγήσατο n’a que trois occurrences, traduites chez nous par
« connu », « raconté » et par « mis en lumière »?! (dans le texte des Actes 15,
14, ἐξηγησάμενος est traduit toujours par « raconté »). Ce que la Vulgate de
Jérôme traduit par « enarravit ». Jean. 1, 18 – Jésus-Christ est le véritable interprète,
qui explique les textes qui parlent de Lui. Dans ce sens, le passage qui décrit le
chemin d’Emmaüs est révélateur : « Alors Jésus leur dit : O hommes sans
intelligence, et dont le cœur est lent à croire tout ce qu’ont dit les
prophètes ! Ne fallait-il pas que le Christ souffrit ces choses, et qu’il entrât
dans sa gloire ? Et, commençant par Moïse et par tous les prophètes, Il leur
explique dans toutes les Écritures ce qui les concernait » (Luc 24, 25-27).
Si nous acceptons cette clé christologique de lecture des Écritures, nous
pouvons dire que « jusqu’à ce que Christ soit formé en nous » (Gal. 4, 19),
nous n’aurons pas accès au sens véritable des Écritures, mais seulement à
des ombres de celles-ci. Pour parler dans les termes d’Origène, le passage de
la lettre à l’esprit équivaudrait au passage « de l’ombre à la vérité » (Homilia
in Leviticum 7, 4; le motif de l’« ombre » (σκιάν – Hébr. 10, 1; Col. 2, 17)
apparaît assez souvent dans les textes origéniens, en faisant référence à la
lettre des Écritures). Origène affirme que « le premier niveau de lecture de la
Bible est ombre, image, reflet de la vérité évidente dans la lecture
spirituelle » (Muraru 2006c, 30). Alors, « pour Origène (PG 13, 166), la
lecture ne s’ajoute pas à la vie comme simple exercice, mais elle représente
une composante organique de la vie spirituelle, en transformant l’existence
quotidienne en lecture vive de la Parole, en l’endroit où le Verbe parle
constamment » (Evdokimov 1993, 190). Qui plus est, « pour Origène, la
révélation que le Logos apporte offre la possibilité du juste rapport à la
réalité : l’accès au réel est permis grâce à l’incarnation du Logos » (Muraru
2006c, 32).
A partir du texte de Paul de 2 Cor. 3, 16, Origène affirme : « Aussi
longtemps que, en lisant les Écritures divines, leur sens nous échappe, aussi
longtemps que qui est écrit nous apparaît comme obscur et voilé, nous ne
sommes pas encore revenus à Dieu. Car si nous étions revenus à Dieu, le
voile aurait été, sans doute, levé » (Origène, Homilia in Exodum XII, 1). Et
160
comment revenir à Dieu que par l’intermédiaire de la prière. Ce n’est peut-être
par hasard que « plusieurs exégèses origéniennes s’ouvrent justement par la
prière origénienne de rétablir la communion avec l’auteur des Écritures [...]
La prière, en tant que nom du rapprochement de l’auteur des Écritures, est
nécessaire pour découvrir les significations de l’écriture révélée » (Muraru
2006b, 14). Donc, « la prière facilite la compréhension adéquate des
Écritures » (ibidem). Écritures qu’on pourrait considérer, en quelque mesure,
comme un compromis entre le silence de Dieu et le langage humain. A la
rigueur, les Écritures elles-mêmes pourraient être considérées comme une
hiérarchie, car elles ne se révèlent à tous de façon égale, mais à chacun selon
ses possibilités (quantum potest).
Au-delà de ces possibilités de nous rapporter aux textes origéniens, ce
qui est certain c’est que le sens anagogique (ἀναγωγή) représente le noyau de
l’interprétation chrétienne, en impliquant totalement la personne de celui
qui s’est engagé dans l’ascension spirituelle. Pour un ascète, l’exégèse n’était
pas exclusivement académique, scolastique, mais elle s’appuyait sur
l’expérience quotidienne.
En dernière instance, nous sommes tentés de croire que cette « science
oubliée » à présent n’est rien d’autre qu’une manière de vivre les préceptes
des Écritures. Dans ce sens, le traducteur A. Muraru affirme, à juste raison,
que « toute la biographie origénienne est consommée par un acte unique,
celui d’interpréter le texte inspiré » (Muraru 2006c, 13). Ce qui signifie
qu’Origène n’a pas vécu qu’en accord avec ce qu’il a écrit ; mais, surtout,
qu’il n’a pas écrit que ce qu’il avait vécu.
Notes
Dans le Timée 71a-73b, Platon explique que μαντική s’accompagne toujours d’un certain
délirer (μανια); voir aussi Ion 534a où l’on appelle les poètes interprètes des dieux (έρμηνής
τών θεών). Dans ce même dialogue – Ion, 535a –, Platon parle d’interprètes des interprètes
[έρμηνέων έρμηνής]. Philon d’Alexandrie comprend par le terme έρμηνεία le Logos qui
s’extériorise (De Migratione Abrahami, I, 2, dans Les œuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie, Tome 14,
Paris, Cerf, 1965, p. 100: έρμηνεία est équivalent à προφορά λόγον). A son tour, Clément
d’Alexandrie, dans Stromates, 8, 20, 5, donne au terme έρμηνεία presque la même acception:
ή τής διανοίας έρμηνεία, c’est-à-dire de manifestation linguistique de la pensée. M. Eliade
donne lui-même au concept d’herméneutique une définition très proche à son acception
initiale, sacrée, d’interprétation de la volonté des dieux et des « messages » divins […]. Ce
qui signifie que l’herméneutique sera donc, pour Mircea Eliade aussi, l’« art », la méthode
ou la « science » de « déchiffrer » les significations religieuses ou d’autre nature (Marino
1980, 28-31).
2 Paul, dans son Epître aux Galates, 4, 21-31, propose une pareille interprétation
« typologique » relative aux deux fils d’Abraham, dont le premier né de l’esclave Agar, et le
second de la femme libre : Sarah. Tout ce que Paul dit dans ce passage a un sens allégorique
(άλληγορουμενα). L’enfant né de l’esclave symbolise le Jérusalem actuel, sous le joug de la
loi, tandis que l’enfant né de la femme libre symbolise le haut Jérusalem, fondé non sur la
loi et la chair, mais sur la liberté et l’esprit.
1
161
Le thème de la « clé » accompagne constamment le destin entier de l’herméneutique.
Nous n’allons pas mentionner ici que deux passages bibliques où l’on invoque le motif de la
clé : Luc 11, 52 et Apocalypse 3, 7; pour d’autres références au motif de la clé dans les
Écritures, voir de Lubac 1950, 167.
4 M. Luther désigne un principe unique relatif à l’interprétation : sola Scriptura. Avec la
consécration de ce principe, pour citer P. Ricoeur, « L’Évangile lui-même est devenu une
lettre, un texte ; et en tant que texte, il exprime une différence et une distance, aussi minime
soit-elle, à l’égard de l’événement qu’il proclame » (Ricoeur 1999, 352-353).
5 Le texte de Jean est ici très apparenté à la conception de Philon d’Alexandrie, qui reprend
une doctrine stoïcienne, à savoir : le terme de έρμηνεία se réfère au « logos qui se manifeste
en dehors de nous » (Aristote, Poétique, VI, 1450b 13: « j’entends par langage l’expression
[έρμηνεία] à l’aide des paroles ». Il est fort possible que ce soit l’expression le sens le plus
courant à cette époque-là du christianisme précoce).
3
Références
Aristotel. 1997. Organon I. Trad. par M. Florian, Bucureşti: IRI.
Buffière, Félix. 1987. Miturile lui Homer şi gîndirea greacă. Trad. par Gh. Ceauşescu, Bucureşti:
Editura Univers.
Corniţescu, Constantin. 1980. „Sf. Vasile cel Mare, interpret al Scipturii”. Ortodoxia XXXII
(2): 308-320.
Eco, Umberto. 1996. Limitele interpretării. Trad. par Ştefania Mincu şi Daniela Bucşă,
Constanţa: Editura Pontica.
Evdochimov, Paul. 1993. Vârstele vieţii spirituale. Trad. par Ion Buga, Bucureşti: Christiana.
de Lubac, Henri. 1950. Histoire et esprit. L’intelligence de l’Ecriture d’apres Origéne. Paris : AubierMontaigne.
de Lubac, Henri. 1959-1964. Exégèse médiévale. Les quatre sens de l’Écriture. Paris : Aubier.
Marino, Adrian. 1980. Hermeneutica lui Mircea Eliade. Cluj-Napoca: Dacia.
Muraru, Adrian. 2006a. “Origen, un faimos literalist”. Dans Omilii, comentarii şi adnotări la
Geneză. Iaşi: Polirom: 43-118.
Muraru, Adrian. 2006b. “Despre o ştiinţă uitată”. Dans Omilii şi adnotări la Exod, Iaşi,
Polirom: 11-59.
Muraru, Adrian. 2006c. “Origen şi alegoria”. Dans Omilii şi adnotări la Levitic, Iaşi: Polirom:
13-42.
Neamţu, Mihail. 2007. Gramatica Ortodoxiei: tradiţia după modernitate. Iaşi: Polirom.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1999. Voinţa de putere. Încercare de transmutare a tuturor valorilor (fragmente postume). trad. par Claudiu Baciu, Oradea : Aion.
Origen. 2006a. Omilii, comentarii şi adnotări la Geneză. Trad. par A. Muraru, Iaşi : Polirom.
Origen. 2006b. Omilii şi adnotări la Exod. Trad. par A. Muraru, Iaşi : Polirom.
Origen. 2006c. Omilii şi adnotări la Levitic. Trad. par A. Muraru, Iaşi: Polirom.
Philon din Alexandria. 2006. Comentariu alegoric al legilor sfinte după lucrarea de şase zile. Trad.
par Zenaida Anamaria Luca, Bucureşti: Herald.
Popa, Gheorghe. 2001. Metoda istorico-critică şi două limite ale interpretării. Dans Ştefan
Afloroaei (coord.), Limite ale interpretării. Iaşi: Editura Fundaţiei Axis: 153-163.
Ricoeur, Paul. 1999. Conflictul interpretărilor. Eseuri de hermeneutică. Trad. par Horia Lazăr, Cluj:
Echinox.
Rorty, Richard. 2004. “Cum evoluează pragmaticul”. Dans Umberto Eco, Interpretare şi
suprainterpretare. Trad. par Ştefania Mincu, Constanţa: Pontica.
Septuaginta. 2006. vol. 4/I, Cristian Bădiliţă et alii (coord.). Bucureşti-Iaşi: Colegiul Noua
Europă-Polirom.
162
Dragoş Mîrşanu
Dragoş MÎRŞANU *
From Greek Authority to Hebrew Verity
and Back: The Question of the Source Text of
the Latin Old Testament in the Correspondence
between Saints Augustine and Jerome
Abstract: In this paper, I would like to focus on one of the issues raised in the
correspondence between Saints Augustine of Hippo and Jerome, with respect to
the questioning by the first of the necessity or even the validity of translating the
Old Testament into Latin from the Hebrew, as advocated by the latter, instead of
continuing to give credit to the Greek translation of the Septuagint as the only
textual authority for the Christians in both East and West. I shall discuss below the
motives and the style of Augustine‟ criticism, as well as those of Jerome‟s
refutation.
Keywords: Augustine; Jerome; Septuagint; Vulgate; Christian Scriptures; Biblical
Canon
The sophisticated and scholarly epistolary dispute between two of the
greatest Latin biblical exegetes of Late Antiquity, Jerome and Augustine,
exhibits essentially the condition of the translator and/or interpreter of the
Christian Scriptures. From the necessity of understanding and relaying the
correct theological interpretation of difficult places such as the story of
Apostle Paul‟s confrontation with Apostle Peter in Antioch (Gal. 2:11-14)
to the crucial need of choosing the appropriate source text of the Old
Testament to be translated into Latin, this dialogue, occasionally friendly
and every so often excessively critical between these two rather dissimilar
characters presents us with the opportunity to generally appreciate the
interpreter‟s profession and disposition1.
***
It might be useful to give first a brief presentation of Jerome‟s activity as a
biblical translator before and around the time of his correspondence with
Augustine (which took part in two phases: the first, from ca. 393/5 to 405
and the second, in 415-419), in order to offer some background to their
dialogue and in particular to the problem in question2.
*
Independent researcher, Iaşi, Romania; email: [email protected]
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From Greek Authority to Hebrew Verity and Back...
Born of well-to-do Christian parents, about 346, at Stridon, on the
borders of Dalmatia and Pannonia, Jerome was given a fine education most
notably at Rome, where he studied under the grammarian and rhetorician
Aelius Donatus. There he was baptized and started to learn Greek and,
while on the move to Gaul and then to Aquileia, his interest in biblical and
theological studies grew. In 374, we find him in Antioch, where he settled
after setting out for the Greek-speaking East via Constantinople. Living for
a few years among the hermits of Chalcis east of Antioch, following a major
spiritual experience, he turned his back to classical literature – at least to a
certain degree – in favour of deepening his knowledge of the Scriptures and
particularly of acquiring some degree of proficiency in Hebrew – learning it
from a converted Jew – as well as in Syriac (Sparks 1970, 511-512).
Of course, as far as the Old Testament was concerned, Jerome was
studying the received version of the Septuagint, a translation of the Hebrew
Scriptures made during the third century BC for the Greek-speaking Jews of
the diaspora in Alexandria; this had been the version used by the Apostles3
and was thus invested with supreme authority not only in the East, but also
in the Western Church, which had their Latin Bible translated from it. As
such, in the West, “the need of some Greek was recognized, if only to
check the meaning of the Latin Bible against its original: but the need for
Hebrew in order to test the LXX against its original was unimaginable – it
seemed like assailing the Word of God” (SEMPLE 1965/6, 230). However,
it is also important to note that there was more than one version of the
LXX circulating at the time – all of them revisions of the Hexaplaric text of
the LXX – not to mention there had been even before that alternative
versions to the LXX: the second century new translations of the Hebrew
Scriptures by Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion4.
In the context of the schism in Antioch, Jerome found himself a
supporter of Paulinus, with whom he went to Constantinople in 381 and
then to Rome in 382. Pope Damasus, already an admirer of Jerome‟s
dedication to learning and to the Church, took him as his secretary and
then, most importantly, commissioned him to revise the Latin Bible (or
possibly just the New Testament) against the Greek for all the errors made
by the original translators some two centuries earlier – most probably
because of their imperfect command of the Greek language – and by
various copyists since. It is clear that Damasus did not expect a new
translation, but merely a revision.
Using a good many Latin manuscripts, he produced first the revised text
of the Gospels, in agreement with “Graeca veritas”, which he presented to
Pope Damasus. Next, he embarked on the revision of the Psalms and a few
of the books of the Latin Old Testament against the Greek text of the
LXX. After the death of his protector Damasus and the rise of the new
Pope Siricius, who was less inclined to support him, Jerome decided to
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Dragoş Mîrşanu
leave Italy for good and move East. After a stay in Egypt he went to
Palestine and settled in Bethlehem in 386. He continued his work on
revising the Latin Bible against the LXX, but also against other Greek
versions and the Hebrew original. Using Origen‟s Hexapla, he started to
introduce the diacritical signs contained there in his new versions5. The
editor started to gradually find his work more difficult and less satisfactory,
being a version transposed not from one language only, but from two: not
from the original, but from a translation. In spite of being perceived as
authoritative or “sacred” in ecclesiastic circles, Jerome decided the LXX
cannot function accurately as source text, both for being a translation itself
and for having flaws (Sparks 1970, 530-531)6, and also for being practically
useless in the discussions with the derisive Jews, who were not accepting it
as valid. The only solution, as he saw it, was to leave aside the older
renditions and produce fresh translations into Latin, directly from the
“Hebraica veritas”, or iuxta hebraeos. While he began to publish pieces of his
Old Testament translations – meanwhile learning some more Hebrew from
one or more Jews, such as one named Baraninas – he was to encounter a
rather persistent opposition from the likes of Rufinus and Epiphanius of
Salamis, and not least from Augustine, as we shall see next, but most
commonly from critics with no proper training, yet willing to tarnish his
name simply because he dared to change the text as it had been known, for
instance by the omission/inclusion of passages and the alteration of familiar
wording. It was of little consequence that he recommended that his
translations be checked for accuracy with the help of Jews, as this had little
chance to occur in practice, due to obvious reluctance on the part of the
Christians. By 405/406, Jerome had managed to finish he translation of the
Old Testament, with the exception of the apocryphal books, which were
not part of the Hebrew canon. He dedicated the last years of his life, until
his death in 420, to the composition of some major Old Testament
commentaries, to the Minor Prophets, Daniel, Isaiah, and Ezekiel – by
which he defended, one could say, his work of translating from the Hebrew.
Nowhere clearer than in the Preface to his translation of the Chronicles
(Paralipomemon) does Jerome put together his main arguments to support
his endeavor. First, he states that the original text of the LXX is impossible
to recover and that, even if one would manage this, that source text would
still be a translation:
“If the version of the Seventy translators is pure and has remained as it was
rendered by them into Greek, you have urged me on superfluously, my
Chromatius, most holy and most learned of bishops7, that I translated the
Hebrew scrolls into the Latin language…. Now, in fact, when different versions
are held by a variety of regions, and this genuine and ancient translation is
corrupted and violated, you have considered our opinion, either to judge which
165
of the many is the true one, or to put together new work with old work…”
(Jerome, Preface to Paralipomenon 1-8 Weber-Gryson, 546; trans. Edgecomb).
“Origen certainly not only put together the texts of four editions, writing the
words in a single row so that one regularly differing may be compared to others
agreeing among themselves, but what is more audacious, into the edition of the
Seventy he mixed the edition of Theodotion, marking with asterisks those
things which were missing, and placing virgules by those things which are seen
to be superfluous. If, therefore, it was allowed to others not to hold what they
once accepted, and after the seventy chambers, which are considered without a
single author, individual chambers were opened, and thus is read in the
churches what the Seventy did not know, why do my (fellow) Latins not accept
me, who thus put together the new with the inviolate old edition so that I
might make my work acceptable to the Hebrews and, what is greater than these,
to the authors, the Apostles?” (Ibidem 12-21)
Jerome recommends his own “On the best kind of translating” (Hie. 57, to
Pammachius) to those willing to learn that there are quotations from the
Old Testament in the New Testament that are not in LXX but can be
found in the Hebrew text and finally remind his detractors of a precedent:
Theodotion‟s translation of parts of Job and Daniel had been accepted in
lieu of the LXX text:
“The Apostles and Evangelists were certainly acquainted with the Seventy
interpreters, but from where are they (supposed) to say these things which are
not found in the Seventy?” (Ibidem 24-25)
“Thus is the turning back to the Hebrew books, from which the Lord spoke
and the disciples took forth texts. In peace I will say these things of the
ancients, and I respond only to my detractors, who bite me with dogs‟ teeth,
slandering me in public, speaking at corners, the same being both accusers and
defenders, when approving for others what they reprove me for, as though
virtue and error were not in conflict, but change with the author. I have recalled
another edition of the Seventy translators corrected from the Greek to have
been distributed by us, and me not to need to be considered their enemy, which
things I always explain in the gatherings of the brothers” (Ibidem 31-37;
cf. Jerome, Preface to Joshua, Weber-Gryson, 285-286; Müler 1989, 115).
***
By the time he initiated the dialogue with Jerome, in 384/385, Augustine
had apparently learned that he was now translating some books of the Old
Testament directly from the Hebrew. While his more immediate interest
and the main element that further ignited the correspondence was Jerome‟s
intriguing interpretation of the episode of Paul‟s confrontation with Peter in
Antioch (Gal. 2:11-14), Augustine considered it important to first state the
absolute authority of the Septuagint (by which he meant both the Greek
original and the Latin translation made from it) already from his first letter
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Dragoş Mîrşanu
(Aug. 28), revisiting the topic in Aug. 71 and Aug. 82 (while Jerome had a
chance to answer in Hie. 112, in reply to Aug. 71)8.
From his first letter, we learn that Augustine would have preferred that
Jerome translate into Latin from the Greek text of the LXX and use signs to
mark, when necessary, where does his translation differ from the text of the
Septuagint (as he did in his translation of the Book of Job). Moreover, since
the authority of the LXX translation is undisputable, the learning of the
translators cannot be called into question and also the Hebrew bias and
polemical purpose of the translations made by Aquila, Symmachus and
Theodotion are evidently deplorable, Augustine would like to know what is
Jerome hoping to achieve:
“I would be very surprised if anything could still be found in the Hebrew texts
which had escaped the notice of all those translators who were such experts in
that language. I say nothing of the Seventy, for I would not dare to any kind of
decisive answer to the question of whether they possessed a greater harmony of
wisdom or of inspiration that one man could have, but I do think that their
work should without doubt be accorded preeminent authority in this field. I am
more disturbed by those who, in making later versions, clung more tenaciously,
as the saying goes, to the method and rules of Hebrew words and expressions
and not only disagreed amongst themselves but also left out many things which
had to be explained and elucidated much later. If these things are obscure, one
must suppose that you, too, can be mistaken about them; if they are obvious, it
is most unlikely that these translators could have been mistaken about them. I
would therefore beg you to give me assurances with regard to this matter by
kindly explaining your position on it.” (Aug. 28.2 FC 41: 100/102; trans. White
1990, 66-67)
For one reason or another, this first letter never reached its destination.
However, Augustine decided to include a copy of it with another letter that
he sent much later, in 403 (Aug. 71), so it was only at this time that Jerome
actually learned anything about his concerns. By attaching his old Aug. 28 to
Aug. 71. Augustine gave himself the opportunity to reopen the discussion
and resume his criticism of Jerome‟s translating principles, on account of
recently learning of a new translation of the Book of Job, this time made
from the Hebrew. He repeats his desire that Jerome translate from the
Greek text of the Septuagint, for pastoral reasons, especially since it would
otherwise create a rift between East and West:
“I feel that many problems would arise if your translation began to be read
regularly in many churches, because the Latin churches would be out of step
with the Greek ones, especially as anyone who puts forward objections will
easily be proved wrong when the Greek text is produced, for Greek is a language
almost universally known.” (Aug. 71.4 FC 41: 162; trans. White 1990, 92)
Conversely, if the faithful would have only a version translated from the
Hebrew and a dispute should arise “it would be almost impossible to get
167
hold of the Hebrew texts” in order to settle it. Augustine‟s pastoral concern
is most evident when he offers Jerome an illustrative example of such
misunderstanding. In the city of Oea (modern Tripoli), says Augustine, the
reading of a passage from the Book of Jonah in Jerome‟s translation, with
the blessing of the local bishop, purportedly caused a disturbance, for it was
at odds with the translation the faithful knew: “They came across a word in
your version of the prophet Jonah which you had rendered very differently
from the translation with which they were familiar and which, having been
read by so many generations, was ingrained in their memories.”(Ibidem;
Duval 1966, 10-14) Apparently, the bishop had been forced to call for some
Jews who confirmed that the Greek and old Latin translations were right,
while Jerome‟s version was wrong and needed immediate correction: “This
makes even us suspect that you, too, can be mistaken occasionally.” (Aug.
71.5 FC 41: 164; trans. White 1990, 93)
Trouble with the translation of Jonah 4:6 was hardly news. Jerome had
used hedera (ivy), for the plant in the Hebrew text that is said to have grown
fast upon God‟s command in order to throw its shade over Jonah, instead
of cucurbita (gourd), as in the Old Latin Bible (Rebenich 1993, 58). For that,
a certain Canterius had accused him of sacrilege in Rome9. Explaining that
the name of the plant cannot be rendered perfectly since it does not exist in
the Latin world and language, Jerome defended his approximation of the
plant by means of botanical considerations10.
Finally, Jerome has the chance to respond to Augustine‟s concerns (Hie.
112, about 405). He emphasises that he did not mark the deviations from
the LXX because he worked on the Hebrew text and was simply concerned
with rendering the truth of the original into Latin. Jerome is wittingly
surprised that Augustine would use a “corrupted” version of the Septuagint,
that of Origen, incorporating the work of Jews like Aquila, Symmachus and
Theodotion, but not a translation made by him, a Christian who made an
effort to free the text from Judaizing influences:
“I am surprised that you are not reading the Septuagint in the original form as it
was produced by the Seventy, but in an edition corrected, or corrupted, by
Origen using daggers and asterisks… Do you wish to be a true admirer of the
Septuagint? Then you should not read what is preceded by an asterisk – in fact
you should delete such passages from your copy, to prove yourself to be a
supporter of the ancient translators. But if you were to do this, you would be
forced to condemn all church libraries for only one or two copies are to be
found which do not contain these passages.” (Hie. 112.19-20 FC 41: 218; trans
White 1990, 133-134; cf. Jerome, Preface to Job, Weber-Gryson, 731-732; Jerome,
Preface to Isaiah, Weber-Gryson, 1096).
The scholar from Bethlehem takes pains to pay it back to Augustine by
using his own argument that his work had been already well done, so why
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would he repeat what others did so perfectly? By the same token, says
Jerome, how do you, Augustine the Exegete, dare to interpret the Scriptures
where illustrious men have previously done it with splendid results:
“Please tell me why your opinion should differ from that of such distinguished
commentators on the psalms. If the psalms are unintelligible you must admit
that it is possible for you, too, to be mistaken about them, but if their meaning
is clear, it is hardly likely that those commentators should have got them wrong.
And so, either way your interpretation will be redundant.” (Hie. 112.20 FC 41:
222; trans White 1990, 134-135)
As far as the correspondence goes, Augustine‟ reply included in Aug. 82
constitutes the final word on our topic. The doubt persists. After he
acknowledges that it would be desirable to know whether the Jews might
have left out or corrupted the original when translating into Greek,
Augustine is puzzled as to which Jews Jerome is referring to: those who
translated before the coming of the Lord, or the later ones? Evidently, the
former cannot be thought as deceivers whatsoever, therefore the suspicion
must lie with the more recent ones. The bishop of Hippo accentuates his
deep interest in Jerome‟s translation of the Septuagint that he was not aware
existed and of which he would like to be sent a copy. While Augustine
admits to the usefulness of knowing the variety of interpretations brought
about by the obscurity of many passages, he nevertheless points out to the
single most important aim of everything, i.e., to hold the unity of the faith.
In a last statement, he claims that his opposition has never been due to his
jealousy of Jerome‟s useful labours, as some might have thought, but was
fuelled purely by the need to follow his obligation to care for the faithful:
“The reason I was unwilling for your translation from the Hebrew Bible to be
read in the churches was that I wanted to avoid introducing it as something
new and as a rival to the authority of the Septuagint, in case it should confuse
the Christian congregation when their ears and hearts are used to this
translation which even the apostles approved of. That is why if that shrub in
the Book of Jonah is neither an ivy nor a gourd in the Hebrew version, but
something else which leans on its own stem and grows without being
supported by any prop, I would still prefer that „gourd‟ be read in all the Latin
versions, for I do not think that the Septuagint used this word without good
reason: these translators must have known that this is more or less what it
meant.” (Aug. 82. 35 FC 41: 332; trans. White 1990, 174)
I believe these extracts have argued sufficiently in favour of Augustine‟s
pastoral concern11 as probably the most important motive for him
countering Jerome‟s method and principles of translation. Simply said, while
he would agree that a translation from the Hebrew would be helpful for the
learned among the Christians, the Septuagint translation has to remain the
only one authorized by, and to be used in, the Church.
169
However, while the aim of this paper was to concentrate on the issue of
translating from the Greek or from the Hebrew in the correspondence, this
cannot be done in total disconnection from the main element of discussion,
lest we are to miss a very important side of things. Augustine‟s insistence on
debating the correct manner of interpretation of the episode in Gal. 2:11-14
had serious consequences for defining the authority of the Scriptures and, in
particular, the question of the useful lie, mendacium officiosum, as an exegetical
precedent. The manner in which Paul‟s confrontation with Peter was
understood during the first Christian centuries had created basically two
traditions: one which supported the idea that the confrontation was real, in
which therefore Peter humbly accepted Paul‟s correction (a position
embraced also by Augustine) and one that saw the confrontation as a
preplanned scene for the benefit of the faithful of both Gentile and Jewish
provenance (that was Jerome‟s understanding, mostly following Origen).
There is no need to go into the debate proper between Augustine and
Jerome, which one can learn about elsewhere12. Suffice it to note that, for
Augustine, the possibility that the Scriptures may lie, even for a „blessed‟
reason, was disconcerting to say the least. If for Jerome most of everything
Scripture told was to be investigated, broadly speaking, from a scholar‟s
perspective, for Augustine it was chiefly a matter of pastoral concern and,
furthermore – it must be said now – it certainly affected his anti-heretical
stance (Cole-Turner 1980). The correspondence reveals that the implications
of Jerome‟s interpretation of Paul‟s confrontation of Peter were
embarrassing Augustine at the time of his fighting the Manicheans. It was,
after all, hard to support the total authenticity and veracity of the corpus of
the Scriptures if interpretations such as Jerome‟s would unsuspectingly open
the door to all who were being inclined to proclaim the falsity of (parts of)
the Bible. One cannot fail to observe here that Augustine‟s determined
opposition to Jerome‟s work of translation from the Hebrew falls in a
similar category: if the erudite priest is to point out by comparing the
Septuagint version with the Hebraic veritas the potential inconsistencies, the
errors, the additions or omissions, or perhaps the forgeries in the text, will
this not encourage those who were dedicated to find the text faulty and
unreliable?
***
Lastly, there is evidence that the topic remained of interest to Augustine
even after the correspondence was long over13. In his City of God, the
African bishop takes his time to write down a few thoughts on the position
of the Scriptures in the Church (esp. 18.41-43 CCSL). For Augustine, the
Septuagint is certainly inspired and any divergence from the Hebrew
original should not be considered an error (unless made by a scribe), but a
170
Dragoş Mîrşanu
result of the Holy Spirit moving the translators to actually prophesy by
rendering the text differently:
“But where the difference is not a mere copyist‟s error, and where the sense is
agreeable to truth and illustrative of truth, we must believe that the divine Spirit
prompted them to give a varying version, not in their function of translators,
but in the liberty of prophesying. And therefore we find that the apostles justly
sanction the Septuagint, by quoting it as well as the Hebrew when they adduce
proofs from the Scriptures.” (Augustine, City of God 15.14 CCSL; trans. Dods,
2: 75)
After giving an account on how the Septuagint was made in the time of
Ptolemy Philadephus by the hand of the seventy-two, who “received so
wonderful a gift of God, in order that the authority of these Scriptures
might be commended not as human but divine” (City of God 18.42;
trans. Dods [actually George Wilson]), Augustine proceeds to a lengthy
affirmation of the authority of the Septuagint and that is has to be preferred
to all other translations, that can be accepted only if agreeing to the
Septuagint. As it refers explicitly to Jerome and his work and it offers his
final word on this issue, it deserves to be quoted extensively, for I cannot
think of a better conclusion than his own:
“For while there were other interpreters who translated… yet the Church has
received this Septuagint translation just as if it were the only one; and it has
been used by the Greek Christian people, most of whom are not aware that
there is any other. From this translation there has also been made a translation
in the Latin tongue, which the Latin churches use. Our times, however, have enjoyed
the advantage of the presbyter Jerome, a man most learned, and skilled in all three languages,
who translated these same Scriptures into the Latin speech, not from the Greek, but from the
Hebrew [our italics, D.M.]. But although the Jews acknowledge this very learned
labour of his to be faithful, while they contend that the Septuagint translators
have erred in many places, still the churches of Christ judge that no one should
be preferred to the authority of so many men, chosen for this very great work
by Eleazar… but since so great a sign of divinity has appeared in them,
certainly, if any other translator of their Scriptures from the Hebrew into any other tongue is
faithful, in that case he agrees with these seventy translators, and if he is not found to agree
with them, then we ought to believe that the prophetic gift is with them. For the same Spirit
who was in the prophets when they spoke these things was also in the seventy men when they
translated them [our italics, D.M.] ... Some, however, have thought that the Greek
copies of the Septuagint version should be emended from the Hebrew copies;
yet they did not dare to take away what the Hebrew lacked and the Septuagint
had, but only added what was found in the Hebrew copies and was lacking in
the Septuagint, and noted them... And those things which the Hebrew copies
have not, but the Septuagint have, they have in like manner marked... and many
copies having these marks are circulated even in Latin… if anything is in the
Hebrew copies and is not in the version of the Seventy, the Spirit of God
171
did not choose to say it through them, but only through the prophets. But
whatever is in the Septuagint and not in the Hebrew copies, the same Spirit
chose rather to say through the latter, thus showing that both were prophets…
Further, whatever is found in both editions, that one and the same Spirit willed
to say through both, but so as that the former preceded in prophesying, and the
latter followed in prophetically interpreting them.” (City of God 18.43 CCSL;
trans. Dods, 2: 271-273)
Notes
The letters which were sent to each other can be found in the critical editions of both
Jerome and Augustine, as well as in separate editions that collect them together, such is the
most recent one made for Fontes Christiani (= FC) by Alfons Fürst (Fürst 2002), which I
use here, together with Carolinne White‟s English translation (White 1990). For the other
letters, I use the CSEL editions made by A. Goldbacher (Augustine) and I. Hilberg
(Jerome).
2 In general for Jerome, see Cavalerra 1922; Kelly 1975. For Jerome as an exegete and
translator I found the following particularly useful: Semple 1965/66; Sparks 1970;
Rebenich 1993.
3 Hie. 57.11 CSEL 54: 523: “et tamen iure Septuaginta editio obtinuit in ecclesiis, uel quia
prima est et ante Christi fertur aduentum uel quia ab apostolis, in quibus tamen ab
Hebraico non discrepat, usurpata”.
4 On the question of the transmission of the Hebrew Bible text, see Müler 1989, 115-116.
5 Preface to Job [LXX version], to Paula and Eustochium, PL 29: 61.
6 On the Septuagint before Jerome, see Müller 1989, 103-114.
7 On Chromatius of Aquileia, see PCBE, Italie, 2: 432-436.
8 In general on the correspondence, including the complicated problems of chronology, see
Cavalerra 1922; De Bruyne 1932; Joussard, 1956; Hennings 1993; Fürst 1999; Ebeller 2012,
esp. 101-150. For the chronological table of the letters, see now Fürst 2002, 14-15. I regret
not having had access to Alfons Fürst, “Veritas Latina. Augustins Haltung gegenüber
Hieronymus‟ Bibelübersetzungen”, Revue d'études augustiniennes et patristiques 40 (1994):
105-126, reprinted in Idem, Von Origenes und Hieronymus zu Augustinus. Studien zur antiken
Theologiegeschichte, Berlin; Boston: De Gruyter, 2011.
9 Rebenich 59: “It is also striking that the new translation ivy had obviously not been
criticized for philological, but for theological reasons; that is to say, Jerome was accused of
sacrilegium since his translation differed from the traditional and thus divinely inspired
reading of the Bible.” Cf. Rufinus, Apologia 2.39 CCSL 20, 114.
10 Jerome, Commentary on Jonah 4:6 SCh 43: 110-112; trans. Hegedus 1991, 63-64: “Instead
of gourd, or ivy, in Hebrew we read ciceion which is also said ciceia in the Syriac and Punic
languages. It is, however, a type of shrub or small tree, which has broad leaves in the
manner of a vine, and supporting very thick shade. It grows profusely in Palestine, and
especially in sandy places, and it is a wonder as a seedling. If you throw it in the earth it
warms quickly and grows into a tree, and within a few days what you had seen as a herb
you will suppose to be a small tree. Because of this also, at that time when we were
interpreting the prophets, we wished to translate the very name itself from the Hebrew
language, since Latin discourse does not have this type of tree. But we were afraid that the
grammarians would not find leave for commenting on it, and would imagine them to be
either beasts of India, or mountains of Boeotia, or certain other wonders of this kind; and
so we followed the ancient translators, who also themselves translated as 'ivy' what is called
κισσός in Greek, for they did not have another word which they could say.”
1
172
Dragoş Mîrşanu
Aug. 73.5 FC 41: 240-242; trans. White 1990, 104: “For I am not, and cannot be, as
learned in the Holy Scriptures as I see you are; if I have some ability in this field, I devote it
in one way or another to the people of God”).
12 On the Galatians episode in the correspondence, see Aug. 28; Aug. 40; Aug. 82; Hie. 112
with Cole-Turner 1980; Sinapi 1993; Fürst 1999, 1-87.
13 I will not concern myself with particulars as to Augustine‟s actual use of Jerome‟s
translations from the Hebrew, for which see La Bonnardière 1986.
11
References
Antin, Dom Paul. 1956. Jérôme, Sur Jonas: introduction, texte latin, traduction et notes. Sources
chrétiennes (= SCh), 43. Paris: Cerf.
Augustine (Augustinus). 1895-1923. Epistulae. Edited by A. Goldbacher. Corpus Scriptorum
Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (=CSEL) 34/1-2; 44; 57; 58. Vienna.
Augustine (Augustinus). 1955. De civitate Dei. Edited by B. Dombart/A. Kalb. Corpus
Christianorum Series Latina (CCSL) 47-48, 1 and 2. Turnhout: Brepols.
[http://www.hs-augsburg.de/~harsch/Chronologia/Lspost05/Augustinus/
aug_cd00.html – retrieved 15 December 2016]
Augustine of Hyppo. 1872. The City of God. A New Translation, 2 vols. Translated by Marcus
Dods [and others]. Edinburgh: T&T Clark.
Cavalerra, Ferd. 1922. Saint Jérôme, sa vie et son oeuvre. 2 vols. Louvain; Paris.
Cole-Turner, Ronald S. 1980. “Anti-heretical Issues and the Debate over Galatians 2:11-14
in the Letters of St. Augustine to St. Jerome”. Augustinian Studies 11: 155-166.
De Bruyne, D. 1932. “La correspondance échangée entre Augustin et Jérôme”. Zeitschrift für
die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 31: 233–248.
Duval, Yves-Marie. 1966. “Saint Augustin et le Commentaire sur Jonas de Saint Jérôme”.
Revue d'études augustiniennes et patristiques 12: 9-40.
Ebbeler, Jennifer. 2012. Disciplining Christians: Correction and Community in Augustine's Letters.
Oxford studies in Late Antiquity. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press.
Fürst, Alfons. 1999. Augustins Briefwechsel mit Hieronymus. In Jahrbuch für Antike und
Christentum. Ergänzungsband 29. Münster Westfalen: Aschendorff Verlag.
Fürst, Alfons, 2002. Augustinus-Hieronymus: Epistulae mutuae = Briefwechsel, vols I-II. Übersetzt
und Eingeleitet von Alfons Fürst. Fontes Christiani (= FC) 41. Turnhout:
Brepols.
Hegedus, Timothy Michael. 1991. “Jerome's commentary on Jonah: Translation with
introduction and critical notes”. Theses and Dissertations (Comprehensive). Paper 115.
Wilfrid Laurier University (http://scholars.wlu.ca/etd/115/ – retrieved 15
December 2016)
Hennings, R. 1993. “The Correspondence between Augustine and Jerome”. In Studia
Patristica XXVII. Edited by E. A. Livingston. Papers presented at the Eleventh
International Conference on Patristic Studies held in Oxford 1991, 303-310.
Leuven.
Jerome (Hieronymus). 1864. Praefatio Hieronymi in Librum Job, Patrologia Latina (= PL) 29:
61-62.
Jerome (Hieronymus). 1910-1918. Epistulae. Edited by I. Hilberg. Corpus Scriptorum
Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (=CSEL) 54-56. Vienna.
Jerome (Hieronymus). 2007. Biblia Sacra Iuxta Vulgatam Versionem, 5th Edition. Edited by
Robert Weber and Roger Gryson. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft.
Jerome. 2007. Vulgate Prologues. Translated by Kevin P. Edgecomb.
(http://www.bombaxo.com/prologues.html – last updated 6 September 2007;
retrieved 15 December 2016).
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Joussard, Georges. 1956. “Réflexions sur la position de saint Augustin relativement aux
Septante dans sa discussion avec saint Jérôme”. Revue d'études augustiniennes et
patristiques 2: 93–99.
Kelly, John N. D. 1975. Jerome. His life, writings and controversies. London: Harper and Row.
La Bonnardière, Anne-Marie. 1986. “Augustine a-t-il utilisé la „Vulgate‟ de Jérôme?” In Saint
Augustin et la Bible. Edited by A.-M. la Bonnardière, 303-312. Paris: Beauchesne.
Lardet, Pierre. 1983. Saint Jérôme: Apologie Contre Rufin: Introduction, Texte Critique, Traduction et
Index. Sources Chrétiennes, 303. Paris: Cerf.
Müller, Mogens. 1989. “Graeca sive Hebraica Veritas? The Defence of the Septuagint in
the Early Church”. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 1: 103-124.
PCBE, Italie = Prosopographie chrétienne du Bas-Empire. 2. Italie (313-604). 1999. Edited by
Charles et Luce Pietri. Rome: École française de Rome.
Rebenich, Stefan. 1993. “Jerome: The „vir trilinguis‟ and the „Hebraica veritas‟”. Vigiliae
Christianae 47: 50–77.
Rufinus. 1961. Apologia contra Hieronymum. Edited by M. Simonetti. Corpus Christianorum
Series Latina (= CCSL) 20: 29-123. Turnhout: Brepols.
Semple, W.H. 1965/66. “St. Jerome as a Biblical Translator”. Bulletin of the John Rylands
Library 48: 227-243.
Sinapi, Michèle. 1993. “La question du mensonge officieux dans la correspondance JérômeAugustin”. Rue Descartes, no. 8/9, Mensonge et image (Novembre 1993): 63-83.
Sparks, H.F.D. 1970. “Jerome as Biblical Scholar”. In The Cambridge History of the Bible, vol.
1: From the Beginnings to Jerome. Edited by P.R. Ackroyd and C.F. Evans, 510541. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
White, Carolline. 1970. The Correspondence (394-419) between Jerome and Augustine of Hippo.
Lampeter
174
Florina-Rodica Hariga
Florina-Rodica HARIGA *
A Hermeneutical Exercise: Understanding
Bonaventure’s Itinerarium mentis in Deum
as a Treatise about Education
Abstract: The aim of this article is to discuss Bonaventure’s approach regarding
the arts and sciences, the relationship between philosophy and theology as a model
for achieving intellectual and practical knowledge necessary in reaching and seeing
God in via. By the means of these concepts, the article will argue that the classical
interpretation of the treatise Itinerarium mentis in Deum as a mystical work may be
fully enriched with a new approach that will describe it as a treatise about
education. The main arguments expressed in the article refer to the sources that
inspired Bonaventure when writing his treatise such as ancient philosophical texts,
patristics authors and the tradition that has been known as the “School of Saint
Victor”. The finality of this text is to analyse the connexion between Bonaventure’s
treatise and the above-mentioned sources in order to offer a clear perspective of
the synthesis that has been made possible by the Franciscan author when
discussing the problem of scientifically unity of philosophy and theology, of
intellectual and practical knowledge as a way of achieving the necessary wisdom in
interpreting “the book of creation” and finding God through his traces in the
created world.
Keywords: Bonaventure, education, knowledge, sciences, medieval philosophy,
Christian wisdom
It is a common thing that when one speaks about Bonaventure and his
work Itinerarium mentis in Deum, one automatically perceives and defines this
work as a mystical treatise, as a work that speaks about how the believer
may walk the road that will lead him to meet and know God in an
immediate manner. When thinking about Bonaventure’s reasons and practical
purposes in writing this work, I could not help myself and wonder if, at a
different level, his intention was also oriented to something else and namely,
to the education of his readers according to the Christian and Franciscan
way of life. After all, he served his brethren as the Minister General of the
Order between 1257 and 1274.
The first necessary step in understanding the Itinerarium mentis in Deum as
a treatise that also speaks about education, and not only the via mystica that
one has to follow in order to know God, is to observe and analyse the
*
175
A Hermeneutical Exercise: Understanding Bonaventure’s Itinerarium mentis in Deum ...
context in which Bonaventure wrote his work. For Bonaventure, the
created world may be understood only by following the guiding line that
comes back to medieval Christian cosmology, a line that interprets this
world as a book written by the hands of God for the human being; a book
that may hold the key of communicating with any other leaving creature, a
book of creation accessible to all those wanting to open it and read it.
According to this interpretation, the key of understanding creation has been
lost after mankind has been found guilty for committing the original sin;
therefore, losing Heaven meant in fact losing the possibility of maintaining
a real and authentic connexion that has been initially established between
mankind and the environment that God created for it. If man does not
re-establish such a connexion, man cannot define himself in order to follow
the necessary path that will allow him to be re-united with God and be
perfected. A person may not reach moral rectitude and is not perfected if it
does not achieve the equilibrium of the authentic connexion with the entire
creation in order to reach for the connexion with its Creator (Reilly 1974, 663).
Bonaventure chooses to transpose his ideas about how one should
understood and live this life in a more correct manner in order to achieve
moral rectitude, in a compendious way in the treatise Itinerarium mentis in
Deum after he already offered an elaborated description of his moral theory
in the Commentary of the Sentences of Petrus Lombardus. In my opinion, when
writing this text, Bonaventure had in mind also a moral sense, and not only
a mystical one; before offering a guide for achieving a non-mediated vision
of God through rapture, he firstly writes to offer a way of moral life and a
model for a righteous human behaviour.
The whole created world has been made for mankind in order to know
God. Knowing God is necessary for being able to love God. In which way
does this world speak about God and how are we humans acquainted with
Him through the words of Bonaventure? The ideas exposed in Itinerarium
mentis in Deum reflect that the creatures are to be understood as things, as
signs; in a way, the world is seen through the lens of Aristotelian physics and,
in a different way, through the means of a sacred symbolism. Bonaventure
tends to favour the last one and connects the created world with the
Scripture as both aspects that teach mankind how to recognize and know
God in the way that Francis of Assisi has offered his example initially when
connecting the natural world and the word of God (Vignaux 2004, 181).
As a Christian mystic, Francis tried to stress upon the importance of the
affect that through the means of grace transforms in a radical way the
human intellect for that it may know the creatures as marks of the love of
God. As Paul Vignaux may observe, in the Itinerarium, Bonaventure
followed this perspective and one does not only find the Anselmian
problem of the intelligence discussed here, but also the way in which
Bernard spoked about love and how Richard of Saint Victor defined the
176
problem: a perfect union of Scholastics and mysticism (Vignaux 2004, 182). The
divine fundament of science is visible only for the conscience of someone
that has been transformed by the true wisdom as Dionysius asserts and is
being quoted in the sixth chapter of Bonaventure’s treatise.
This pure vision that accesses true wisdom may be attained by following
a way of peace according to six steps that emphasise contemplation and
moral life. The destination is God and the “door” or the mediator is the
Crucified Jesus Christ, as Bonaventure defines this way in the Prologue of
the treatise (Bonaventure, Prologue 1 “Itinerarium mentis in Deum”, Opera
omnia, vol. V, 1891). How may one “pass through” Christ in via? In a both
physical and spiritual way by the means of the Sacraments1 and especially,
the Holy Communion, and by reading and correctly interpreting the Gospel
that proposes a way of life that stresses upon facts and, in this sense, ethics
becomes the main key of interpreting the book of nature, the creation.
God’s traces in the universe show one what to know, how to know and
how one should behave after achieving this knowledge. The facts are
represented by prayer (contemplation of the soul) and by theoretical
reflection (contemplation of the intellect) that lead to a manner of
understanding and living life in accordance with oneself and with others
that represent the community or the state in which one lives.
Man has to be attentive and observe that everything in the universe leads
his soul back to God, that every material and spiritual aspect is a trace or an
image that facilitates the reading of the Scripture and thus educates man
according to God’s will: traces from the universe and from the sensible
world that reflect the non-rational creation (the first two chapters of the
treatise), the divine image found in the faculties of the human soul
(sensibility, conscience, will, intelligence, intellect, reason, synderesis) that
defines through similitude the rational creation (the third chapter). The
fourth chapter of the treatise presents the reformed image of God into
mankind through the gifts of grace, the Sacraments and the theological
virtues (faith, hope, and love). The fifth and the sixth chapter teach the
human being how to call and recall God according to the names of Being
that reflects the divine unity, esse as a primary name of God revealed by Him
to Moses, and Good that defines the divine Trinity and the intra-Trinitarian
relationships. In the seventh and last chapter of the treatise, Bonaventure
emphasises the peace of the intellect that transcends towards the affect
giving the human mind the immediate knowledge of God. This is how
Bonaventure shapes the itinerary of the mind towards God showing that
contemplation and prayer should always be followed by facts and deeds that
define a certain way of living one’s life.
When reading the pages of the Itinerarium one finds that it is not difficult
to attain an intellectual knowledge of God, but to achieve an affectionate
one represents the problem in the economy of salvation and human
177
perfection. One knows God through the means of the intellect by reading
books that speak about Him and by hearing stories that talk about Him, but
one has to know God in an affectionate way by loving Him and loving God
means doing the acts of God and Good, that is, the good deeds that elevate
the human behaviour, acts that are moral in themselves without the fear of
punishment or the pleasure of reward.
The mind is the one that has to pursue this journey of acquiring the
affectionate knowledge of God, because the mind watches over the law of
the Gospel and in what way are the principles of love and good assured and
accomplished by people. Respecting the law of the Gospel, that is the law
of love, is identical to Christian wisdom and this is the main finality of
Christian philosophy that is expressed by a Christian way of life as the
experience of the Gospel transposed in the life of a person who has
assumed these moral rules and is being oriented by these principles.
In the first chapter of the Itinerarium, Bonaventure shows that the mind is
enriched with six faculties or powers of the soul (sensibility, imagination,
reason, intellect, intelligence and synderesis) that are given by nature,
deformed by sin and reformed by grace. The mind is purified by
righteousness, exercised through knowledge and science, perfected by
choosing to respect and follow a wise way of life2. How does Bonaventure
actually define the concept of “mind” in this work and why is this concept
so important for understanding the anthropology presented here? Humans
have three sights that make them capable of knowing and understanding the
world and God, according to Bonaventure3: a sight that is oriented towards
the exterior things (sensibility or the five senses), a sight that is oriented
towards the interior ones responsible for introspection (spirit) and a sight
that is oriented towards transcendence in order to reach God (mind). The
mind is also a victim of the original sin inasmuch as the body, because
original sin strikes the body through concupiscence and the mind through
ignorance4.
Analysing these problems that occur due to the choice of sinning made
in the first instance by Adam and continued by the entire humanity after
him, Bonaventure attempts to offer a valid solution for educating one’s
choices and understanding practical wisdom by appealing to Christian
philosophy 5: praying exercises the faculties of the soul with the help of
grace, righteousness purifies through choosing a morally correct way of life,
science illuminates the darkness shed by ignorance by appealing to
meditation or reflection that leads to theoretical knowledge and wisdom
perfects the human mind through the means of contemplation that allows it
to acquire practical knowledge. Firstly, one has to pray; secondly, one has to
live a holy or a virtuous life and thirdly, one has to observe and to
understand the world through the three sights oriented towards the truth
and this synthesis represents the way to God 6, the itinerary defined by
178
Bonaventure at a practical level that deals for now only with the moral
aspects of one’s life.
In the second and third chapter of the treatise, Bonaventure expresses
the way in which one has to understand the exterior and interior sights:
after observing that the universe has a certain beauty, order and measure,
the mind has to see how different bodies and souls are made and what are
their functions, which ones rule and which one are being ruled, which one
generate new forms of life and which one are being generated7; and looking
towards himself, man has to see in which way was he created and what does
he do (he judges, chooses and acts), how does he know (in a sensorial,
spiritual and contemplative manner) and what does he know through the
means of memory, deliberation and choice8.
Discussing the aspects that regard human knowledge and the accuracy of
the description of the faculties and processes involved in it, one may assert
that Bonaventure has also tried to offer a model of understanding the human
being and its condition, especially when it comes back to psychological
issues. In a certain sense, he offered a “canonical” perspective on the
human being and established a form of Christian anthropology for the
Franciscan Order in medieval times.
According to Christian Trottmann (1999, 63), Bonaventure’s psychology
continues the idea of Philip the Chancellor and John of Rochelle remaining
faithful to the Augustinian tradition that emphasises the distinction between
sensibility, spirit and mind. Although, Bonaventure maintains the five
powers of the soul described by Richard of Saint Victor (adding to the list
the term of “synderesis”) he considers imagination as a form of sensitive
knowledge and not a kind of spiritual knowledge, as Augustin defined it
initially. This might signal an Aristotelian influence that may also be
discovered in the classification of sciences exposed at the end of the third
chapter of the Itinerarium.
This passage9 proposes a reconstruction of different areas of philosophy
according to a Trinitarian plan: natural philosophy (metaphysics, mathematics,
physics) that expresses the essence and the power of the Father, rational philosophy (grammar, logics, rhetoric) that defines the reason of understanding
and the wisdom of the Word or the Son and moral philosophy (monasticindividual ethics, economic- family ethics, political- ethics of the state) that
speaks about order and kindness in one’s way of life taking as model the
Holy Spirit.
This Trinitarian model and division of sciences reflect the ones defined
by Hugh of Saint Victor 10 in his work Didascalicon without taking into
consideration some of the inferior arts that have not been reminded in the
Itinerarium by Bonaventure. It is well-known that Hugh aimed to offer, by
the means of his text, an introductory guide to Christianity, to reflect on
what are the main elements of learning that regard a Christian education.
179
Bonaventure also praises and evokes Hugh of Saint Victor in another
treatise named De reductione artium ad theologiam that has a similar structure as
the Itinerarium mentis in Deum and treats the division of sciences in a wider
manner than the Itinerarium (Trottmann 1999, 66-68).
If philosophy is perfected by wisdom and wisdom is the expression of
the Christian way of life as it was initially asserted in the beginning of the
article, Christian education is being completed by assuming a wiser way of
life closer to God and this represents the definition of “wisdom” according
to Bonaventure: the knowledge of God secundum pietatem obtained by faith,
hope, love; by living an authentic and assumed man-God relationship
through religion as the Augustinian phrase vera religione expresses. Wisdom
constitutes a direct reference to God like the other two names Being and
Good that are explained in the fifth and in the sixth chapter of the treatise11.
Referring to wisdom as a human feature, one may understand that it only
represents the assimilation of the divine things through contemplation of
the eternal aspects in an immediate manner as a gift of grace offered to the
blessed and righteous ones.
The wisdom that is an effect of assuming Christian philosophy as a way
of life defines a habitus of a happy man that has fulfilled his desire of
knowing that what is per se, the causes and the links present in the created
things in order to reach for the theological way of life that expresses similar
relationships at the level of the non-created things. The manner in which
the knowledge of the non-created things becomes evident is possible only
with the help of Revelation offered in the Scripture, therefore any type of
knowledge from arts and crafts to sciences is reduced and comes back to
the knowledge of God as Wisdom inherent in all created things and as a
finality of every form of education, both theoretical and practical. The role
of the human person is very limited in this process, although essential, man
only has to accept the divine gift of the Revelation that allows him to know
God as a model and example for any type of knowledge present in the
created world (Cullen 2014, 134). In this sense, by achieving so many levels
of knowledge from crafts and arts to sciences, man only enriches his ways
of being perfected and achieving salvation. The Itinerarium does not only
educate about how one should educate and what to teach when educating,
not only describes a theory of education, but it also represents a laudatio
brought to the concept of education understood as a mean of augmenting
one’s ways of accessing God and therefore, his own perfection and
salvation.
By assuming the model of Christian paideia defined by Augustin in the
work De doctrina christiana12 and by Hugh of Saint Victor in his Didascalicon,
Bonaventure shapes his own educational model based on the reading,
contemplating and interpreting of the Scripture according to the four
doctrines. The system of sciences elaborated by Bonaventure places
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theology as a fundament of every type of knowledge and this fact may be
proved in a rational way by observing the commune Trinitarian structure
present in every activity and product of science that humanity has ever done
(Cullen 2014, 136). One might say that this approach represents an itinerary
of the sciences towards theology and a reduction of the mind to God.
The human intelligence is placed here in the service of devotion and
every science complements faith and praises God. Fernand van Steenberghen
argues that Bonaventure has succeeded in realizing a unity of knowledge
through theology, a conscious and constant effort of unifying the sciences
under the mediation of Christ as a way and center in the same time. This
interpretation of the scientific ideal proposed by Bonaventure transcends
the limits of Christian mystical metaphysics and those of Franciscan
philosophy in order to establish a theological wisdom that may accomplish
the unity of knowledge, as van Steenberghen may affirm in his work La
philosophie au XIIIe siècle (van Steenberghen 1966, 196).
The new wisdom, the Christian wisdom assumes according to
Bonaventure the other forms of secular wisdom that are reinterpreted and
uses them as tools in order to define its own terms. He perceived the
naturalist and rationalist spirit of his time as a threat augmented by the
massive infusion of Aristotelian and Neoplatonist positions that developed
in the medieval universities and tried to create a synthesis, a scientific unity
of reason and faith, of philosophy and theology, an approach always
perceived in favour of the latter (van Steenberghen 1966, 199).
In his view, Aristotle and Plotinus could represent good companions for
Francis and after passing through the sensible and intellectual knowledge of
the world, the believer is invited to experience the mystical knowledge of
the spiritual and non-created things and according to this idea, Bonaventure
has created an authentic Franciscan wisdom that represents the most pure
form of Christian wisdom as Fernand van Steenberghen asserts. This
Franciscan wisdom is not only a speculative wisdom, but also a practical
wisdom that refers to life and an internal organization of knowledge that
does not only establish a statically hierarchy between different sciences, but
also promotes the subordination of the sciences in the dynamic order of a
personal research that tries to possess the supreme Truth and the sovereign
Good. The exercise of different forms of knowledge that come back to
different sciences represents the itinerary of the man that succeeds in
transgressing all the steps in order to be elevated to God (van Steenberghen
1966, 200).
Fernand van Steenberghen continues and explicitly affirms that in the
Itinerarium mentis in Deum and, of course, also in the treatise De reductione
artium ad theologiam the work of Christian philosophy 13 is to facilitate the
acquirement of the entire Christian wisdom; that is to harmonize in a
profound and multiple way the aspects that exist between the order of
181
nature studied by philosophical sciences and the order of grace that only by
itself reaches the theology expressed by the sacred doctrine. Whoever
achieves an authentic knowledge of the above-mentioned sciences will
obtain an extraordinary medium of elevating oneself to the knowledge of
God Himself, because everything that defines the sciences in the created
world encompasses a trace of the Trinity (van Steenberghen 1966, 215, 244).
When analyzing the Itinerarium mentis in Deum, one observes that
Bonaventure has not only succeeded in defining a mystical Christian
Franciscan philosophy or way of life, but has also achieved to create a
synthesis of ancient philosophical classical sources along with the most
important works of patristics and some medieval contemporary texts. By
the means of shaping a scientifically unity between philosophy and theology,
regardless of the hierarchy of the expressed concepts, Bonaventure affirms
that education is the key to salvation, either if it is described as intellectual
or as practical education. Before speaking about mysticism and rapture,
Bonaventure’s treatise acknowledges the importance of education and
asserts that education is another form of reaching and knowing God in the
created world. With Bonaventure one understands that to be saved and
perfected means to be educated, both by experience and by books.
Notes
Speaking about the Sacraments in the Prologue, 3-4 of his treatise, Bonaventure asserts
that Communion is the most important act of expressing a Christian way of life and that no
man may enter the Celestial Jerusalem through contemplation, if he does not passes firstly
through the blood of the Lam as through a gate as it has been said in the Gospel of John
when describing the Last Supper (“[…] quod per contemplationem ingredi non potest
Ierusalem supernam, nisi per sanguinem Agni intret tanquam per portam”). But one may
not pass through the blood of Christ, if one does not have a clear conscience, because it is
not enough to read and reflect upon certain spiritual aspects if one does not have faith,
piety and devotion to accompany him in this process (“[…] ad gemitum orationis per
Christum crucifixum, per cuius sanguinem purgamur a sordibus vitiorum, primum quidem
lectorem invito, ne forte credat quod sibi sufficiat lectio sine unctione, speculatio sine
devotione, investigatio sine admiratione, circumspectio sine exsultatione, industria sine
pietate, scientia sine caritate, intelligentia sine humilitate, studium absque divina gratia,
speculum absque sapientia divinitus inspirata. […] Exerce igitur te, homo Dei, prius ad
stimulum conscientiae remordentem, antequam oculos eleves ad radios sapientiae in eius
speculis relucentes […]”).
2 Ibidem, I, 6: “Iuxta igitur sex gradus ascensionis in Deum, sex sunt gradus potentiarum
animae per quos ascendimus ab imis ad summa, ab exterioribus ad intima, a temporalibus
conscendimus ad aeterna, scilicet sensus, imaginatio, ratio, intellectus, intelligentia et apex
mentis seu synderesis scintilla. Hos gradus in nobis habemus plantatos per naturam,
deformatos per culpam, reformatos per gratiam; purgandos per iustitiam, exercendos per
scientiam, perficiendos per sapientiam”.
3 Ibidem, I, 4: “Secundum hunc triplicem progressum mens nostra tres habet aspectus
principales. Unus est ad corporalia exteriora, secundum quem vocatur animalitas seu sensualitas:
alius intra se et in se, secundum quem dicitur spiritus; tertius supra se, secundum quem
1
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dicitur mens. – Ex quibus omnibus disponere se debet ad conscendendum in Deum, ut
ipsum diligat ex tota mente, ex toto corde et ex tota anima, in quo consistit perfecta Legis
observatio et simul cum hoc sapientia christiana”.
4 Ibidem, I, 7: “[…] et totum genus suum per originale peccatum, quod dupliciter infecit
humanam naturam, scilicet ignorantia mentem et concupiscentia carnem”.
5 Discussing the problem of education by offering an example of moral virtue and Christian
way of life in an accurate manner it is widely known that as a Minister General of the
Franciscan Order, Bonaventure has censored all other writings regarding the life of Francis
of Assisi and established a canonical hagiography that describes the life of the founder of
the Order, Legenda maior, written by Bonaventure himself in 1261. This event has been
preceded by the Council of Narbonne (France) in 1260 in which Bonaventure establishes
the Constitution of the Order as a set of rules that are meant to define the status of the
members of the Franciscan Order. In 1259 Bonaventure had already begun to write his
treatise Itinerarium mentis in Deum that is supposed to be finished in 1260.
6 Ibidem, I, 8: “Qui igitur vult in Deum ascendere necesse est, ut vitata culpa deformante
naturam, naturales potentias supradictas exerceat ad gratiam reformantem, et hoc per
orationem; ad iustitiam purificantem et hoc in conversatione; ad scientiam illuminantem et
hoc in meditatione; ad sapientiam perficientem et hoc in contemplatione. Sicut igitur ad
sapientiam nemo venit nisi per gratiam, iustitiam et scientiam; sic ad contemplationem non
venitur nisi per meditationem perspicuam, conversationem sanctam et orationem devotam.
Sicut igitur gratia fundamentum est rectitudinis voluntatis et illustrationis perspicuae
rationis; sic primum orandum est nobis, deinde sancte vivendum, tertio veritatis spectaculis
intendendum et intendendo gradatim ascendendum, quousque veniatur ad montem excelsum,
ubi videatur Deus deorum in Sion”.
7 Ibidem, II, 2: “Quod patet sic: quia in eo quaedam sunt generantia, quaedam generata,
quaedam gubernantia haec et illa”.
8 Ibidem, III, 2-4.
9 Bonaventure, op. cit., III, 6: “Ad hanc speculationem quam habet anima de suo principio
trino et uno per trinitatem suarum potentiarum, per quas est imago Dei, iuvatur per lumina
scientiarum, quae ipsam perficiunt et informant et Trinitatem beatissimam tripliciter
repraesentant. – Nam omnis philosophia aut est naturalis, aut rationalis, aut moralis. Prima
agit de causa essendi, et ideo ducit in potentiam Patris; secunda de ratione intelligendi, et
ideo ducit in sapientiam Verbi; tertia de ordine vivendi, et ideo ducit in bonitatem Spiritus
Sancti. Rursus, prima dividitur in metaphysicam, mathematicam et physicam. Et prima est
de rerum essentiis, secunda de numeris et figuris, tertia de naturis, virtutibus et operationibus
diffusivis. Et ideo prima in primum principium, Patrem, secunda in eius imaginem, Filium,
tertia ducit in Spiritus sancti donum. Secunda dividitur in grammaticam, quae facit potentes
ad exprimendum; in logicam, quae facit perspicaces ad arguendum; in rethoricam, quae
facit habiles ad persuadendum sive movendum. Et hoc similiter insinuat mysterium ipsius
beatissimae Trinitatis. Tertia dividitur in monasticam, oeconomicam et politicam. Et ideo
prima insinuat primi principii innascibilitatem, secunda Filii familiaritatem, tertia Spiritus
sancti liberalitatem”.
10 One may observe that the division of natural and moral philosophy reflects the division
of theoretical and practical philosophy defined by Aristotle and assumed by Hugh of Saint
Victor in his work Didascalicon.
11 For further explanations on the matter regarding the two divine names please see
Vignaux 2004, 182-184.
12 Augustine asserts in his work De doctrina christiana that all the secular sciences may be and
have to be placed into the service of the sacred science or the science of the Scripture.
183
According to Fernand van Steenberghen’s approach, Christian philosophy represents in
fact a form of science build upon the light of Christian faith and one of the features of
such a philosophy is that it preferably adopts an order of exposition similar to the one of
theology that is always elaborated in contact with theology and in a perfect symbiosis with
it. (van Steenberghen 1966, 218-219).
13
References
S. Bonaventurae opera omnia. 1891. vol. V. Ed. Colegii S. Bonaventura. Florence: Quaracchi.
Cullen, Christopher M. 2014. „Bonaventure’s Philosophical Method”. In Jay M. Hammond;
J. A. Wayne Hellmann; Jared Goff (ed.). A companion to Bonaventure. Leiden: Brill.
Reilly Jr., James P. 1974. “Rectitude of will and the examined life”. S. Bonaventura. Rome:
Collegio S. Bonaventura Grottaferrata.
Trottmann, Christian. 1999. Théologie et noétique au XIIIe siècle. Paris: J. Vrin.
van Steenberghen, Fernand. 1966. La philosophie au XIII e siècle. Louvain : Publications
Universitaires.
Vignaux, Paul. 2004. Philosophie au Moyen Âge, Paris : J. Vrin.
184
Gelu Sabău
Gelu SABĂU *
Nietzsche, Christianity and the Moral Idol
Abstract: One of the famous sayings by Nietzsche is that “God is dead!”. In the
current article, I will refer to Heidegger‟s interpretation and, further on, Jean-Luc
Marion‟s respective interpretation of this saying. Heidegger considers that it is
about the fading away of transcendence, on which the traditional metaphysical
discourse was based, while Jean-Luc Marion hints to the “moral God‟‟, who is
considered as an Idol. Starting from this viewpoint and from Gianni Vattimo‟s
idea, according to which the secularization process is another manifestation of
Christianity itself, I have attempted to debate the relation between the traditional
moral values and the way in which the Christian tradition can be interpreted today.
Keywords: Christian God, Nietzsche, idolatry, moral, Heidegger, Jean-Luc Marion,
metaphysic, ontotheology, secularization
1. Introduction
The scene in which the madman is looking for God at midday, holding a
lamp in his hand (Nietzsche 1994, 129) or the fragment in which
Zarathustra tells himself that “God is dead!” (Nietzsche 2012, 61) are
certainly one of the best known places in Nietzsche‟s philosophy. The fact
that “God is dead‟‟ is considered by most readers to be the same thing as
“Nietzsche‟s philosophy‟‟. Because of this, but also due to his anti-Christian
pathos, Nietzsche is often thought as the spearhead of Western modern
atheism (von Der Luft 1984, 268). As a matter of fact, Nietzsche has been
considered and interpreted in various ways by his followers throughout the
twentieth century. His writings have inspired the vitalist philosophies at the
beginning of the twentieth century, while the Nazi regime has claimed its
own ideology as stemming from Nietzsche‟s philosophy of the Superman.
The first philosopher who tries to extricate Nietzsche from the monopoly
of the Nazi ideology and tries to see in him more than a mere philosopher
of culture, a thinker who stands at the end of Western metaphysics, is
Martin Heidegger (Heidegger 1991, I, IX–XIII). Heidegger considers that
the entire history of Western thinking comes to fruition in Nietzsche‟s
theory of the will to power, which manifests itself in the technique and in
nihilism as a side effect. The technique is the supreme form of domination
by the metaphysical reasoning, while nihilism is the consequence of this
*
Hyperion University, Bucharest, Romania; e-mail: [email protected]
185
domination, brought about by the vanishing away of the symbolic world
and by the world of the ideal. Heidegger believes that Western metaphysics
comes finally to fruition in Nietzsche‟s theory of the will to power and that
Nietzsche is the last greatest Western metaphysician (Heidegger 1991, I, 3-7).
In the second half of the twentieth century there have been interpretations
which challenge the Heideggerian perspective on Nietzsche and which portray
Nietzsche not as the last representative of metaphysics, but as the forefather
of the thinking of difference, who attempts to change the understanding of
the being as plenitude, stability, unity, which is specific to the metaphysical
way of thinking, into a thinking which searches for the difference, the ever
changing, the unstable, etc. Among the most important authors who
interpret Nietzsche‟s philosophy in this way one can name Jacques Derrida
and Gilles Deleuze (Vattimo 1996, 79-82; von Tongeren 2004, 174). In
the following article, I will especially refer to the Heideggerian-inspired
interpretation of Nietzsche, by special reference to Martin Heidegger and
Jean-Luc Marion. After presenting the various interpretations of the two
philosophers, I will try to show what the consequences of such a viewpoint
are, pertaining to the way in which the Christian tradition is perceived
nowadays.
2. Nietzsche, Heidegger and the ontotheology
Heidegger has studied closely and for many years Nietzsche‟s philosophy,
the scripts of his university lectures and seminaries (in the period 1936-1940)
having been collected into four volumes, which were published in Germany
in 1961. For Heidegger, Nietzsche is the last Western metaphysician,
his nihilism being the bankruptcy of Plato‟s idealist philosophy and its
following through Christianity: “Nihilism is the process of devaluing the
supreme values until now. The decay of these values stands for the
decomposition of the truth so far relating to being as such in its entirety.
The process of devaluing the supreme values until now is not, as a matter of
fact, another historical fact among many others, but it is the fundamental
event of Western history, a history backed up and led by metaphysics.
Inasmuch as metaphysics has known, by the means of Christianity, a certain
theological seed, the devaluation of the supreme values present until now
has to be also expressed theologically, by the following saying: “God is
dead”. God refers here to what is beyond the senses which, as an eternal
world, is “true‟‟, ”from beyond‟‟, in opposition to what is here, “the
worldly‟‟ place, and it stands for the truth and the final aim. When the
ecclesiastical Christian belief loses all vigor and its worldly standing, God‟s
authority has not yet vanished. The very fact the supreme values until are
being devalued means to say: these values have lost their power to shape
history.‟‟ (Heidegger 2005, 43)
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Gelu Sabău
Nietzsche considers that by his own proposal of overthrowing all values,
his philosophy could be understood as an inverted Platonism. If the
European nihilism consists of the bankruptcy of all values, it needs to be
said that its origins are to be found in the overthrow of the ancient times, in
the philosophies of Socrates and Plato and in the birth of the intelligible
world, as a reaction to life, the world of instincts and feelings etc. (Bondor
2008, 174-179). At the same time as the intelligible world is borne, the
ontological hierarchy shows up for the entire Western metaphysical
tradition. The bailsman of this ontological hierarchy is the Supreme Being,
the Good in Plato, the Prime Mover in Aristotle, God in the Christian
tradition, causa sui God in Descartes or ens realissimum in Leibniz etc. In this
way Heidegger starts talking about the supreme principle, which is a
trademark of all metaphysical thinking, that ensures the existence of all the
whole ontological hierarchy and which he calls “the ontotheological God”.
What is the ontotheological problem and what does it have to do with
Nietzsche?
It is mainly about the ambiguity present in the Western thinking since its
very beginnings and which refers to the identification of Being with the
Supreme Being or, using Heidegger‟s parlance, the transformation of Being
into the Supreme Being. How does this problem or this ambiguity come to
pass? Heidegger considers that, ever since the beginnings of the philosophical
interrogation, the ontological question about being has overlapped with the
theological meaning of the question: “The question ʻWhat is an entity?‟ [or
ʻWhat is that which is?‟] simultaneously asks: Which entity is the highest [or
supreme, hochste] entity, and in what sense is it? This is the question of God
and of the divine. We call the domain of this question theology. This duality
in the question of the being of entities can be united under the title
ontotheology.” (Thomson 2005, 13)
This ambiguity of the Western philosophical thinking has begun in the
seventh century BC, within the pre-Socratic school in Miletus, where the
question about the first principle (prote arche) has been asked by Thales from
an ontological perspective, who questioned himself about the supreme and
last Being (Thomson 2005, 31). In his Metaphysics (Aristotle 1996, V, 1,
1026a, 23-32), Aristotle overlaps the supreme being with the universal
being, with what things have in common and considers the supreme being
as universal, only because it is supreme: “In the Metaphysics, when Aristotle
explicates his own prote philosophia, he formalizes the proto-ontotheological
ambiguity inherent in the Presocratic conception of the koinon (which had
already functioned as both the theological ʻwhere from‟ and the ontological
ʻin common‟ of entities). Aristotle explicitly divides this koinon into an
ontological ʻkoinotaton‟, a universal being ʻshared in common‟, and a
theological ʻkatholon (Theion)‟, a being ʻon the whole, [or] in general (the
Theion)‟.” (Thomson 2005, 32) This ambiguity, which has been taken by and
187
transmitted by Aristotle, is introduced later on within the body of works
belonging to the Christian theology. Although the whole history of philosophy
and theology is not ontotheological, however, the ontotheology triumphs in
modern philosophy with Descartes, which conceives God as causa sui. This
comes to fruition in Hegel‟s philosophy, which is, by definition, the
embodiment of the ontotheological conception (Heidegger 1969, 42-74).
Modern philosophers deal with a concept of “God‟‟ which is another way
of expressing the search of the truth of being. This trajectory of modern
philosophy will find its end in Nietzsche‟s philosophy, which unmasks the
pseudo-morphisms present in modern philosophy. Nevertheless, it is not at
random that Nietzsche is a radical anti-Hegelian, and not in the sense that
he sets himself against Hegelian dialectics (if he had done that, he would
have finally accepted the dialectical reason), but in the sense that he is
looking for its origins and, finding himself at the original start, to unmask it
and to show what makes its functioning possible.
3. The Death of God, the Idol, and Morality
The French phenomenologist Jean-Luc Marion interprets, in Heidegger‟s
foot tracks, the Nietzschean saying referring to the death of God. For
Marion, the God that dies is but an idol sprung for man‟s will to power. It is
a God in the image of man. Hence, there is death. True God is not dead
because it cannot die. To Marion, Nietzsche is still idolatrous, since his way
of relating to God is inadequate. Nietzsche comes too closely to God and,
hence, the price paid: madness. To Marion, the proper relation to divinity
has to keep safe the distance between man and God, while the French
phenomenologist identifies within tradition some ways of a proper
discourse: the apophatic discourse, the praise discourse and the icons
(Marion 2007, 201-352). If man does not keep to this distance, but tries at
any cost to determine the divine being, then, at a certain moment, he will
rise up surrounded by concepts and notions, but bereft of God. Nietzsche‟s
idol God is not the true God, but it is the God of morality: “Morality brings
into disrepute its idol because it itself gave it credit and, by this move, has
fatally looked at it. This is, again, a brutal affirmation of the same paradox:
”God‟s death” holds to itself as far as morality is concerned.‟‟ (Marion
2007, 64)
In his demonstration, Marion quotes more passages from Nietzsche,
which relate explicitly to a moral God or to God, as it appears in man‟s
imagination. What Nietzsche does is to destroy the image that people
themselves have of God.
Here is a first paragraph which confirms explicitly this hypothesis: “Alas,
my brethren, and this God I have conjured, human work and illusion it has
been, like all gods!” (Nietzsche 1994; 2012, 80)
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Gelu Sabău
The human work and illusion refer to that process of imagination by
means of which human beings project their representations about divinity,
which aids them into explaining various phenomena from the world
around, without which these would be incomprehensible. The whole
phenomenon is part of the psychological process of erecting a divinity
(Gottbildung), which transfers God later on, by fixed representation, into an
idol. “To have thought up the concept of ”God‟‟ as a concept set against
life.‟‟ (Nietzsche 2012, 160) or “The concept of God is alienating oneself
from life, a critique and even contempt for life itself;‟‟ (Nietzsche 1999, 101)
We have here explicitly Nietzsche‟s reference to the Platonic-derived
opposition between the world of senses (life) and the intelligible world (the
concept of God). If one interprets this in the light of the will to power, this
opposition tells us that those who made up the intelligible world have done
it in order to subdue those in possession of stronger instincts or of those
who love and cherish life. It is a victory of the weaker ones over the
stronger ones. It is the beginning of nihilism. The beginning of the end of
nihilism happens now, at the same time with Nietzsche, when the world of
ideas and ideals is being devalued, by laying bare its own ignoble origins.
”Question: has the pantheistic attitude, which approves to all things, become
itself impossible? In fact the moral God has been exceled on.‟‟ (Nietzsche 1999, 42)
The moral God, who has been abandoned, is the one that ensures all the
moral values of the European civilization, that God who denies the world
from beneath in order to discover a supreme ideal, in the world of the spirit
or in the afterworld. This God is negated, in exchange for a pantheistic
attitude, which acknowledges and explores the world and life itself the way
they truly are, here and now.
”Religions fade away because of moral belief. The moral-Christian God is not
viable: consequently ”atheism‟‟ – as if there were no other forms of gods.‟‟
(Nietzsche 1999, 105)
The Christian religion has lost its impetus because it has turned into
morality. Confronted with this reality, modern atheism, the negation of
God, seems the only remaining alternative. However, the possibility of
other “forms of God” to exist, of other forms of divine revelation and
expression, confronts us with the hypotheses that atheism is not the only
option left against the worn-out Christianity, but that divinity can always
manifest itself under a different guise.
”The more important was God as a person, the less human beings have shown
it devotion. They are more tied up to their mental representations than they are
to the most beloved among the loved ones; this is the reason why the give
themselves away to the State, the Church and even God – as long as it is their
own creation, their own thought and it is not taken too personally.” (Nietzsche
1999, 396)
189
What we have in this paragraph is a penetrating example of the way in
which human beliefs turn into idols and ideologies. Moreover, the idols
acquire easily man‟s adherence, since they are representations and projections
of the human ego, towards which man feels attached and which man cannot
forswear. On the contrary, the relation to divinity presupposes forswearing
the ego, self-abandonment and subordinating one‟s personal life to divinity‟s
will. The episode of Jesus having been forsworn on the cross is, from
Marion‟s point of view, a proper way of man‟s relation to divinity. Due to
the episode of abandonment before death, Jesus manages to emphasize the
infinite distance between the Creator and the creature, as well as the means
through which man‟s belief is protected from idolatry (Marion 2007, 107).
If the corner stone of all moral values is man‟s tendency to dominate
nature and the desire of the weaker ones to dominate those in strength,
then the metaphysical knowledge offers the theoretical tools for this
tendency to be accomplished. Nietzsche explicitly mentions the fact that
man‟s ego and its need for safety, directed against a hostile world, underlies
all metaphysical knowledge. “We find ourselves in different circumstances
in regard to “certainty‟‟. Man has been brought up in fear so far, and any
bearable existence has always begun with “the sense of security‟‟; all these
still act within man‟s thinking. But, as soon as the outside “danger‟‟ fades
away, there is a craving for uncertainty, for indeterminate horizons. The
reason why philosophers so often highlight the ego‟s and the species
conservation, and take it up as a principle, is just the binding together of
fear with primitive living.‟‟ (Nietzsche 1999, 276) Out of the uncertainty
which man confronts in his natural environment, the need for „‟certainty‟‟ is
borne. Religion and the arts are, from Nietzsche‟s point of view, just forms
in which the metaphysical spirit substantiates itself, before expressing itself
into “systematic philosophical constructions‟‟ (Vattimo 2001, 143). Both
religion and metaphysics look for, under different guises, the same unity, as
an answer to the diversity of the natural environment. Both are in search for
certitude, as an answer to the uncertainty faced by man every day, by the
means of the idea of the existence of a world Creator or of a theme
within life.
4. Morality, secularization, and the Christian tradition
Therefore, the God of morality is the one who testifies to the hierarchy of
moral values, as the God of ontotheology is the one who attests the
ontological hierarchy of metaphysics. It is now clear that the vanishing away
of such a “God”, of an idol, will lead to the impossibility of preserving the
concept of moral worth. Is the idol, which holds fast to and stabilizes an
image of divinity, essential to the well-functioning of religion? Does God
need, in order to express itself, an idolatrous image? Or is the latter an
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adulteration of the divinity‟s image, a threat which we have been informed
about in the Old Testament? Marion expresses the same enquiries in his
argument: “Do we have to accept the idol as a true image of the divine?”
(Marion 2007, 27) His pointwise answer is positive: “Undoubtedly yes, but
with the condition of evaluating the standing of such a divine. Man has to
feel it and decide upon it. Through the idol, the human experience of the
divine is placed before the image the divine acquires through it. We form an
image in order to ask the divine to open itself into it, to look at us through
it, to smile and to threaten.” (Marion 2007, 27)
However, if the idol is the form through which man expresses the way in
which it feels the divine experience at a certain point, then perhaps the idol
becomes essential for preserving and transmitting a certain religious
tradition. For the Christian religion, its morality is essential and that is why
Nietzsche blows it up by debunking it. Could the Christian religion be
transmitted without its traditional moral values? Is it possible to relate to the
Christian tradition, if one comes to cast aside its traditional moral values? It
is not an easy question, and, at first, one would be inclined to offer a
negative answer. What is left of the Christian tradition if one casts aside the
authority of clergyman, given the grace they have received? How is
Christianity to be transmitted if we do not trust in them and respect their
authority? What is left of Christianity if we cast aside the authority a man
traditionally has within his family? What is left if we give up on the
traditional family and accept gay marriages, as it is suggested? If we accept
abortion, can we consider life as a divine sacrament, which is untouchable
by man? What if modern medicine and its unprecedented efficiency seems
more like, because of its hybris, Prometheus‟s attempt to steal the fire from
the gods and Lucifer‟s attempt to possess divine knowledge?
As we have stated earlier, one is inclined to answer all these questions in
the negative. It is hard to imagine that we still belong to the Christian
tradition if we answer all these questions in the positive. Nonetheless, the
Italian philosopher Gianni Vattimo submits a new hypothesis, which is
surely open to interpretations, but which could, otherwise, prove fertile.
Vattimo sees a similarity between his weak ontology (Vattimo 1998, 10-25),
that modality of thinking being which gives up on the ”hard‟‟ criteria of
being, which belong to the metaphysical tradition, and the message of
Christian revelation: “The embodiment, which is the descent of God to man‟s
level, what the New Testament calls God‟s kenosis, will be interpreted as a
sign that the non-violent and non-absolute God of the post-metaphysical
age has as a distinctive feature the very vocation towards weakening,
referred to by the Heidegger-inspired philosophy.” (Vattimo 2005, 29) The
God of love, which empties itself in order to reveal itself to people, is
similar to the post-metaphysical being which gives up the hierarchical
traditions. If we cast aside the restricting hierarchies of the traditional
morality, then we can only offer people mere love.
191
Having been inspired by René Girard work, Violence and the Sacred,
Vattimo believes that Jesus Christ has come to abolish the violent-prone
dimension of the sacred. This is also the reason why he was crucified. From
this point of view, the traditional metaphysic, which imposed some really
hard values, sometimes even forcefully if the case be, is a remnant of the
sacred which Jesus Christ came to abolish. Christianity, which is based on
the message of loving one‟s neighbor preached by Christ, has been
contaminated further on with the metaphysical thinking and, through the
Church, which played an active role historically, has grown used to the
reality of violence. We know for certain that, not infrequently, the authority
of the Church resorted to violence if necessary. From this point of view, the
secularizing process, specific to the Western modernity, is akin to a certain
weakening of values, especially the religious ones. By the mediation of the
secularizing process, the violence that religion is involved with in its
historical existence is transferred to the political and economic domains.
The secularization process is a phenomenon particularly modern and it is
usually interpreted as an evolution set against the principals, which back up
the existent influence of religious beliefs in society. Hence, we are dealing
with a division between the spiritual and the political power, the state and
the Church, with the banning of religious references from the public sphere
and with the autonomization of some spheres, belonging to the human
activity, by their independence from religious principles and rules of
conduct. In the modern world, economics, politics, culture and education
become autonomous fields, which have their own set of rules, without any
religious reference.
The independence of human activities from religious subordination is
parallel with a process of individual autonomization from the divine.
There is also the possibility of religious choice, since a modern individual
belonging to a certain religious creed is not necessarily connected to his/her
birthplace, as it used to be the case in more traditional communities. All
these forms through which modernization manifests itself in the modern
world help us to understand the whole phenomenon as set against
Christianity, and, therefore, more often than not, the secularization process
is associated with de-Christianization.
Totally set against this is Vattimo‟s perspective regarding the phenomenon
of secularization. To him, the secularization process is “a constitutive trait
of an authentic religious experience” (Vattimo, 2005, 6), the medium
through which the Christian message is revealed to us at present. If Jesus
Christ‟s message was deployed against the violence of the sacred, present
within traditional societies, the Church being an active force in history and
sacralizing power, then the secularization process, which obviously weakens
the temporal power of the Church, is pictured as a divine work of Jesus
Christ‟s message. The deprivation of the Church‟s temporal power, the
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Gelu Sabău
secularization and the desacralizing of the state power, the autonomization
of man‟s reason in relation to an all judgmental God, passing to an ethics of
autonomy, all these are quoted by Vattimo ,,as the full accomplishment of
[the Christian] truth, which, is, one should remember, kenosis, God‟s descent
to earth, the denial of the divinity‟s ”natural‟‟ features.‟‟ (Vattimo 2005, 38)
We are here obviously faced with a division between Christ‟s message and
the ecclesiastical authority. Having been abandoned by God, the modern
man can also be interpreted, by analogy, with the distance, which is assumed
by Marion, to be the proper relation to the divine. The fact that God has
drawn back today and does not beckon to humankind or that, on the
contrary, the signals should be traced in its retreat, makes Vattimo consider
secularization as an essential Christian phenomenon, being “positively
connected to the meaning of Christ‟s message.” (Vattimo 2005, 31)
There could certainly be drawn a parallel between Vattimo‟s viewpoint
and the idea of Christianity as “the religion which has done itself out of
religion” (Gauchet 2006, 6), defended by the French philosopher Marcel
Gauchet. For Gauchet doing away with religion does not mean the end of
the religious experience, since relating to the divine otherness is part of our
anthropological structure, but “the end of the role of the dependency
principle had in structuring the social space” (Gauchet 2006, 261), i. e. by
the divinity. Christianity is responsible for this process of social emancipation
from the tutelage of the supreme deities, along with the advent of the
modern world. Within the Christian religion, God‟s embodiment offers ”the
metaphysical condition of possibility of doing away with the principal of
hierarchy present in our world‟‟ (Gauchet 2006, 130). Therefore, the spheres
of human activities break loose from under the gods‟ power and man
becomes autonomous in regard to his own self-administration. Both
Vattimo and Gauchet read the playback of the Western history as an
absolution, thought embodiment, of man from the metaphysical God‟s
tutelage and as an actualization of the division of powers present in the
New Testament (Mt. 22, 21). If Gauchet sees in the accomplishment of this
principles the emancipation of the modern societies from religious
dominance, Vattimo sees the disengagement within the domination of the
sacred, which defines natural religions, Jesus‟s own deliverance. In a way,
Vattimo goes deeper than Gauchet, since where one sees religiously
unbounded societies, the other considers it as a further step in the direction
of the Christian revelation, which is the very social possibility of furthering
the Christian message.
Naturally, there are certain signals coming from the direction of the
Catholic Church, which show a tendency of the Church, in the way referred
to Vattimo, of “emancipation‟‟ from certain principles, which had been until
now self-explanatory for the Catholic doctrinaire corpus. Following the
Second Vatican Council, the Catholic Church abandons the doctrine of the
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just war and engages into defending peace, in the name of Christian values.
It breaks away with the compromise of political regimes and grants
Catholics the liberty to choose according to their own consciousness,
acknowledging the freedom of consciousness in religious matters. It is
certainly a sign of the Church being involved in the desacralizing power and
of a retreat from the place of power, which it had assumed to have in regard
to most Christians‟ self-consciousness. Then, closer to our times, there are
the messages of Pope Francis who call on Christians to ask for forgiveness
from gay people or for the fact they have blessed weapons, messages which
support forgiveness for abortions or others that make plausible the union of
gay people within the Church.
The Pope‟s message clearly renounces the traditional moral values
present within a naturalistic metaphysic and asks for forgiveness and love,
without taking into consideration certain moral options which divide
people. This is the reason why the Pope‟s statements are controversial and
are contested, especially by the more conservative side of the Catholic
believers.
5. Conclusions
Going back to the main idea of the article, from Heidegger‟s and, in his
foot tracks, Marion‟s interpretations of “God‟s‟‟ death, one distinguishes
between the God of metaphysics and the God of morality. From this point
of view one could say that Nietzsche inaugurates a post-metaphysical world.
However, if the God murdered by Nietzsche is an idol, the moral idol, it is
self-evident that Christianity‟s value-prone ”reinforced structure” and the
identity of the Christian tradition have been built on the foundation of such
an idol.
Can we still hope to preserve and transmit the Christian tradition once
this idol is smashed to pieces? Vattimo‟s answer is, true, a scandal to the
traditional Christian‟s mentality, a positive one. Christianity will not only
survive, but, moreover, once having been freed from the constraints of the
traditional morality, Jesus‟s message will be perceived in its proper meaning.
It is true that within the Catholic Church there is a clear move towards
conformity, not only in regard to the modern secularized society, but also to
the requests of post-modern political activists. Could we consider this
tendency to be demanded by the accomplishment of Jesus‟s message? Can
Christianity preserve its own identity, if Christian values, that idol smashed
to pieces by Nietzsche, are unable to back it up? Can the Christian tradition
be passed on if it casts away the Christian values, which it has become
synonymous with? If the dialectical exercise, engraved in the heart of
Christianity from its origins, makes possible the passing on of the Christian
message, as Vattimo states, even against Christianity itself, can one hold on
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Gelu Sabău
to the continuity following this rupture? How could a post-Christian
Christianity look like? Under the circumstances, could one speak about
“Christianity” as in the proper meaning of the term? How can the Christian
message be recovered? All these are still unknown to us, but, undoubtedly,
the questions are so provocative that it is worth musing upon them.
References
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House.
Bondor, George. 2008. Dansul măştilor. Nietzsche şi problema interpretării [The Dance of Masks.
Nietzsche and the Problem of Interpretation]. Bucureşti : Humanitas Publishing House.
Conway, Daniel W. 1992. “Heidegger, Nietzsche and the Origins of Nihilism”. Journal of
Nietzsche Studies. (3): 11-43.
von Der Luft, Eric. 1984. “Sources of Nietzsche's ʻGod is Dead!‟ and its Meaning for
Heidegger”, Journal of the History of Ideas. 45 (2): 263-276.
Gauchet, Marcel. 2006. Dezvrăjirea lumii. O istorie politică a religiei [The Disenchantment of the
World. A Political History of Religion, transl. by Vasile Tonoiu. Bucureşti: Nemira
Publishing House.
Heidegger, Martin. 2014. Despre eterna reîntoarcere a aceluiaşi [On the Eternal Recurrence of the
Same], transl. by Lucian Ionel. Bucureşti: Humanitas Publishing House.
Heidegger, Martin. 2005. Metafizica lui Nietzsche [Nietzsche's Metaphysics], transl. by Ionel
Zamfir & Cătălin Cioabă. Bucureşti: Humanitas Publishing House.
Heidegger, Martin. 1969. Identity and Difference, transl. by Joan Stambaugh. New York &
London, Harper & Row Publishers.
Heidegger, Martin. 1991. Nietzsche, vol. I, The Will to Power as Art; vol. II, The Eternal
Recurrence of the Same, vol III, The Will to Power as Knowledge and as Metaphysic; vol. IV,
Nihilism, transl. by David Farrel Krell. Harper San Francisco.
Heidegger, Martin. 1997. The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays, transl. by
William Lovitt. New York & London: Garland Publishing.
Marion, Jean-Luc. 2007. Idolul şi distanţa. Cinci studii [The Idol and the Distance. Five Studies],
transl. by Tinca Prunea-Bretonnet & Daniela Pălăşan. Bucureşti: Humanitas
Publishing House.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1994. Știinţa voioasă, & Genealogia moralei [The Gay Science & On the
Genealogy of Morality], transl. by Liana Micescu. Bucureşti: Humanitas Publishing
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Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1999. Omenesc, prea omenesc [Human, All Too Human], I & II, transl. by
Simion Dănilă. Timişoara: Hestia Publishing House.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1999. Voinţa de putere. Încercare de trasnmutare a tuturor valorilor [The Will
to Power], transl. by Claudiu Baciu. Oradea: Aion Publishing House.
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Stefan Aug. Doinaş. Bucureşti: Humanitas Publishing House.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. 2012, Ecce Homo. Cum devii ceea ce eşti [Ecce Homo. How to Become What
You Are], transl. by Mircea Ivănescu. Bucureşti : Humanitas Publishing House.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. 2016. Dincolo de bine şi de rău [Beyond Good and Evil], transl. by Radu
Gabriel Pârvu. Bucureşti: Humanitas Publishing House.
Thomson, Iain D. 2005. Heidegger on Ontotheology, Technology and Politics of Education .
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van Tongeren, Paul J. M. 2004. Reinterpretarea culturii moderne: o introducere în filosofia lui
Friedrich Nietzsche [The Reinterpretation of Modern Culture. Introduction to Nietzsche's
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Philosophy], transl. by Alex Moldovan. Târgu Lăpuş: Galaxia Guttenberg
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Heidegger [The Adventure of Difference. Philosophy after Nietzsche and Heidegger], transl. by
Ştefania Mincu. Constanţa: Pontica Publishing House.
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Vattimo, Gianni. 2001. Subiectul şi masca. Nietzsche şi problema eliberării [The Subject and It's
Mask. Nietzsche and the Problem of Liberation], transl. by Ştefania Mincu. Constanţa:
Pontica Publishing House.
Vattimo, Gianni. 2005. A crede că mai credem. E cu putinţă să fim creştini în afara Bisericii ?
[Believing that One Believes. It is possible to be Christians outside the Church?], transl. by
Wrathal, Mark A (ed.). 2003. Religion after Metaphysics. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
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Eugenia Zaiţev
Eugenia ZAIŢEV *
Kritik der Urteilskraft
in the perimeter of translation and interpretation
Abstract: In this presentation I want to bring into focus the way Kant’s volume
title: Kritik der Urteilskraft in its German original form was translated and
interpreted. Even the German original form of the title of this volume created
difficulties when building it, and it passed through more attempts of changing
terms. In the present approach I will emphasize the similarities and differences
among the ways Kant’s title Kritik der Urteilskraft was translated into other
languages. It is important that the sense and the depth of the words from Kant’s
last Critique remained the same, but also that they changed their meaning in
accordance with the translation in the host language. There are many translations
of this booh of Kant’s, but in I will remind only some of the translations of the
German book into some languages; my analysis focuses on the translation and
interpretation of the respective volume into Romanian or English. Therefore, I will
compare the translation of the title of Kant’s book into different languages, but I
will also observe the possibility of translation and interpretation of the contents of
this book, so that to emphasize the fidelity of the translation and the problems of
terminology occurring during a translation. Being in the perimeter of translation
and interpretation, on the one hand, Kant’s Critique keeps its initial structure of title
and content, and on the other hand, it is affected by different linguistic terms.
Keywords: power of judgment, Kant’s sense, translation of the Critique, Kant’s
terminology, the interpretation of the power of judgment
1. Historical data and the interpretation of Kritik der Urteilskraft
Kant’s idea to write this book comes from his interests in the “aesthetic
taste”, the initial title of the book being Critique of Taste (Kritik der Geschmack).
This subject comes from German philosopher aesthetics – Alexander
Gottlieb Baumgarten (1714-1762) – who was the first to write about
aesthetics in 1735, focusing on “beauty sensitive knowledge”. In The Critique
of Pure Reason (Kritik der reinen Vernunft), aesthetics is seen in Aristotle’s sense
(as a science of sensibility), but in the second edition of this Critique (1787) –
Kant recognizes the possibility of the “apriorism” in aesthetics, the
philosopher maintaining the title of Critique of Taste (Kritik der Geschmack)
(the letter from January 1787 to Chr. Gott. Schütz). The translations of this
*
197
Kritik der Urteilskraft in the perimeter of translation and interpretation
writing tell us that just in the letter from the 12th of May 1789 to Reinhold
the work received the actual title Critique of the Power of Judgment (Kritik der
Urteilskraft) from which Critique of Taste is only a part (Kant 1981, 18).
Some information tell us that this Critique, sent as letter to Reinhold in
December 1787, was sent to Berlin for publication as a new manuscript on
the 21th of January 1790, as a critique about the power of judgment (The
Blackwell Philosopher Dictionaries 1995), but other sources plead that the 3rd
Critique was published at Leipzig at end of April 1790, but the next week
Kant has to fulfill 66 years (his years of life: 1724-1804). Critique of the Power
of Judgment (Kritik der Urteilskraft) completes the series of Critiques, starting
with Critique of Pure Reason (Kritik der reinen Vernunft) (1781) and continuing
with Critique of Practical Reason (Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft) (1788). “The
two versions of the introduction to the Critique of the Power of Judgment
suggest that Kant did indeed see the formulation of a new kind of a priori
principle as the key to a critique of both taste and teleology […].” (Kant
2000, XXI).
The translators and the interpreters of Kant’s work tell us that this
volume comes as a completion to the other two Critiques. Kant associates
“the power of judgment” with “teleology”, defining “the power of
judgment” as a “capacity to think the particularity as contained within the
universal” (Kant 1981, 17). Kant defines “teleology” as being the unity
between nature and liberty, and as a mode to contemplating and to viewing
nature. Kant claimed that the power of judgment is “too large” for
aesthetics; therefore, it can encompass teleology. It seems that “the power
of judgment” is not autonomous as reason is because it can apply to any
action, but it applies “only to himself”, being a subjective point of view.
It is interesting that the first interpretation of the Critique that we have
already mentioned was Friedrich von Schiller’s interpretation, which made
him develop this subject later on, in his work: Aesthetic Letters (About the
Aesthetical Education of Man). Schiller’s text is inspired by Kant’s writing, as
well as Friedrich Wilhelm Schelling’s System of Transcendental Idealism.
The resemblance between the “teleology” and the “aesthetics” of the
“Introduction” of the Critique of the Power of Judgment represents a solution for
Schelling’s writing. The book of Kant enforced itself as a fundamental
philosophical purpose for the Neo-Kantians or Kant’s disciples, when it
comes to German philosophers: Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Arthur
Schopenhauer, and others.
2. The approach of the Critique in other languages
The origin of the German title (Kritik der Urteilskraft) comes from Latin.
There are two forms of the title in the language of origin: Die Kritik der
Urtheilskraft and Critik der Urtheilskraft. Then the actual form of the title was
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Eugenia Zaiţev
chosen: Kritik der Urteilskraft. From the German original form of this title
different directions of translation head for: English, French, Italian and
other Western languages, as well as for the languages of Eastern Europe.
In Romanian, Critica facultăţii de judecare received new forms of adaptation
of the translation. Here we speak about Critica facultăţii de judecare, but also
about Critica puterii de judecată as the first form of the translation and with the
simplified structure in which it is treated only the subject about “Analytic of
the Beautiful”, about Taste and Agreeable; other parts about Sublime and its
connection with the nature, as well as Teleological problem, it do not play in
this edition. About the mode how was translated the volume in Romanian, it
determines some editions appeared in Romania in 1981, 1995 and 2007.
The first integral Romanian edition (except I. Gherincea’s try of the
“Analytic of the Beautiful” from 1927) (Kant 1927) dates from 1940, being
signed by Traian Brăileanu. The 1981 edition from lays the groundwork of
the translation in Romanian space of this Critique, having as translators
Vasile Zamfirescu and Alexandru Surdu, and “The First Introduction” was
translated by Constantin Noica. The German edition which was the basis of
the translation of this edition and the edition from 1995 is Ernest Casirrer’s
volume from 1992 (volume V of Immanuel Kants Werke, Berlin, 1922). There
exist three editions of this Critique appeared in 1790, 1793 and 1799.
Casirrer’s is based on the writing from 1793, because as shown in the
existent documents, the edition from 1799 has no evidence of Kant’s
achievement.
The direct translations of the Urteilskraft that would mean “puterea de
judecată” (the power of judgment), the form that we see in the first
translations, is incomplete. However, the translators of the editions from
1981 and 1995, as well as the translator of the Kantian work – Rodica
Croitoru – chose other adaptations of this title, in accordance with original
Latin form facultas discretiva and judicium, because Romanian is a Latin
language, so that the reader should not be puzzled, and in order to preserve
the terminological unity of the entire volume. (Kant 1981, 17). Hence, out
of linguistic reasons, the next translation of the term Urteilskraft imposes
itself: Urteil – judecată (judgment), Kraft – putere (power), Beurteilung –
judecare sau apreciere (judgment or evaluation), but the letter “s” represents
the connection of that two terms. The second reason for the adaptation of
this form holds to fact that the solution „putere de judecare” (the power of
judgment) has the disadvantage of not being a technical term of psychology,
the philosopher from Königsberg being influenced by Tetens’s psychology
of the faculties. The translation of Urteilskraft by the power of judgment
meets this exigency and keeps the Romanian translation at an adequate
terminological level, without contravening with the psychology of the
faculties (Kant 1981, 55). The 1995 Romanian edition is a reeditation of the
1981version, without the critical apparatus (Kant 1995, 11).
199
The translators of the Romanian editions explain the choosing of the
term “judecare” (judgment) and “judecată” (judgment) (which in Romanian
language is a “perfect correspondent” of the German term), because the
term “judecată” (judgment) causes confusion among readers. ([…] we
designate through judgment not only one from our faculties, but the product
of activity of this faculty – judgment, as logic studies. But in German
language there exist two terms for the faculty and product of its activity –
Urteilskraft and Urteil.) (Kant 1981, 56). As a result, the translations of the
term Urteilskraft by judgment would not fit Kant’s own intentions, as he
analyses the limits of the faculties of the soul, and not of the activities of
these faculties.
I have to add the fact that the 2007 Romanian edition of The Critique of
the Power of Judgment (Critica facultăţii de judecare), with its rigorous completions,
is translated according to the German original work edited by The Academy
of the Sciences of Berlin: Immanuel Kant’s Werke (Opere), Band V. Kritik
der Urteilskraft, Band XX, Erste Einleitung in der Kritik der Urteilskraft, Berlin,
Akademie Textausgabe, 1968 (the first edition dates from 1908). The
translator of the 2007 edition – Rodica Croioru states that this translation
not is realized by means of interpretation or by mixing the sense of the
ideas of the author with the meanings of the translators (Kant 2007, 35).
Maybe this affirmation is risky, because every translator appeals to the
methodology of the interpretation of the text. It is sure that the mentioned
variant of the translation of the original German form jeeps the system and
content of the Critique.
Therefore, in Romanian culture, the first translator of Immanuel Kant at
the 3rd Critique was I. Gherincea (1927), which confered to Urteilskraft the
translations of “judecată” (judgment); but Tr. Brăileanu (1940) translated
the German term by “putere de judecare” (the power of the judgment).
Constantin Noica (1943) translated it by “judgment”, while Zamfirescu and
Surdu (1981) by “the power of the judgment”, approaching the sense of
Kant’s philosophy.
It is curious how this book was translated and interpreted into English.
Here we see a concern of the translators exposed in more versions of the
translations of the title, reserved over the years.
1. Critique of Judgement – the letter “e” appears after letter “g”;
2. Critique of Judgment – without letter “e” after letter “g”;
3. The Critique of Judgment;
4. Critique of the Power of Judgment;
5. The Critique of the Power of Judgment.
Werner Pluhar (1987) adopts the form Critique of Judgment, arguing his
option with the fact that Urteilskraft is power, ability, faculty of judgment;
therefore, it would designate both power and faculty of judgment. Instead,
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Eugenia Zaiţev
Eric Mattews’s version (2002) – Critique of the Power of Judgment – resembles
terminologically the Romanian translation of Tr. Brăileanu (Critica puterii de
judecată). The translation and discussion about Kant’s English works was
affected by terminological problems. If in Germany Kant published this
book in Leipzig, then in Great Britain and in North America the Kant’s text
was received in an atmosphere dominated by John Locke (Holzhey and
Mudroch 2005).
The first editions which is the base of the translation in English, were the
German volumes: Critik der Urtheilskraft and Die Kritik der Urtheilskraft, then
it came to the contoured volume: Kritik der Urteilskraft. Kant’s fame as a
philosopher gained after writing The Critique of Pure Reason (1781) was
prevalent beyond the countries that speak German. The translations in
English were published before 1800. Since then, the interpretations of
Kant’s philosophy leaded to an important perspective in Classical and
Modern Philosophy. As in other languages, in English, the generations of
the scientists devoted to produce “fiducial translations” from Kant’s work.
The English translators are based on a complete transmission of Kant’s text
and on the approaching the Latina of the title. It seems that in English, the
title of Critique reflects more on the “power of judgment” than on the
“faculty of judgment”; “power of judgment” comes from Urteilskraft and it
was translated in a manner that reflects the common grammatical structure
as “power of determination” or “reflexive power” (Kant 2000).
The time when “The First Introduction” of this Critique was written
constituted the high point of the certainty in the system of the entire
philosophy, as well as an important criterion for which the notion Third
Critique must be articulated. The English volumes, as well as the Romanian
translations, support that in time of work, the philosopher changed the title
from Critique of Taste into the actual title – The Critique of Power of Judgment.
The English Critique receives light with the translations from German made
by a professor from The United States of America – Paul Guyer. Except for
this translator and interpreter, another important English translator of
Kant’s philosophy is Eva Schaper. Also, there are more good English
translators.
The first translations in French realized by Jules Barni and then by
Gibelin, which translated Critique about art in Critique du jugement, but
contemporary translators – A. Philonenko (2000) and A. Renaut (2002)
opted for similar versions in the Romanian translation: Critique de la faculté de
juger. However, Eric Weil did not agree with these two versions, because
they would not fully express the German original. Thus, he proposed
Critique de la faculté judiciaire (Problèmes kantiens, Vrin, 1962), but this author
did not retain that term, because French contemporary language gave a
precise and technical sense to the term “judicial”. In a French article in the
volume about Kant’s Congress, the author focused on the continental
interpretation of the 3rd Critique (Taminiaux 1976).
201
Here I want to remind the translation for Kant’s Critique in a language
from Eastern Europe and I chose Russian. In this language, The Critique of
Judgment is translated Критика способности суждения, which “способности”
signifies “capacity” or “faculty”, but „суждения” – “judgment” (Podico
1793). Therefore, the title can be translated through “The Critique of Power of
Judgment”. Russian text reflects the original writing, having and new terms or
linguistic forms of adaptation in oriental language.
Finally, I want to discuss the content of The Critique of Power of Judgment.
As far as I observed, the majority of editions of this book, indifferent to the
language of translation, preserves the initial structure of the text, having in
content: “Translator’s Note”, “Preface”, “Introduction”, then the parts
about “Beautiful” and “Sublime”, but in finally – the chapters about
“Teleology”. That is different in the translated volumes, which order the
parts in the beginning differently or change the number of the pages for
“Preface” or for “Introduction”. The 2007 Romanian edition has a
simplified content, but with a rich introductory study. This edition contains
two Introductions: The First Introduction is about the place of the faculty of
judgment in transcendental philosophical system for faculties of knowledge,
but The Second Introduction treats the same problem from the point of view of
the domains of these faculties (Kant 2007, 13).
Kant’s Critique preserves the initial structure of Kritik der Urteilskraft as
the “Critique of the Aesthetic Power of Judgment” and the “Critique of the
Teleological Power of Judgment”, which in Romanian, as well as English,
French, or Russian preserves the same delimitation of the two parts with
many chapters and subchapters. If in Romanian there is an ample content in
two editions, then the majority of English editions concentrate the text in
the same chapters without detailing the matter in the subchapters.
In conclusion, that is added, reviewed, interpreted – can help to better
understanding of Kant’s philosophy. The translation and the adaptation of
Kant’s text in different languages, nuances the fidelity of the translation; it
also emphasizes the terminological problems which appear during the
translation. Being in the perimeter of translation and interpretation, Kant’s
Critique, on the one hand, preserves the initial structure of thinking in the
title and its content, and, on the other hand, is affected by different linguistic
terms. If it is not translated into corresponding terms, then Kant’s Critique
can get to same discordant or false perspectives, because of treating easily of
this small snag, which can overturn the cart of the full work (Kant 2007, 39).
References
Holzhey, Helmut and Vilem Mudroch. 2005. Historical Dictionary of Kant and Kantianism.
Historical Dictionaries of Religions, Philosophies, and Movements, No. 60 . Lanham,
Maryland; Toronto; Oxford: The Scarecrow Press.
Kant, Immanuel. 1981. Critica facultăţii de judecare. Translated into Romanian by Vasile Dem.
Zamfirescu, Alexandru Surdu; translated “The First Introduction” by Constantin
202
Eugenia Zaiţev
Noica, The notes and comments by Rodica Croitoru. Bucureşti: Editura Ştiinţifică
şi Enciclopedică.
Kant, Immanuel. 1995. Critica facultăţii de judecare. Translated into Romanian by Vasile Dem.
Zamfirescu, Alexandru Surdu; translated “The First Introduction” by Constantin
Noica. Bucureşti: Editura Trei.
Kant, Immanuel. 2007. Critica facultăţii de judecare. Seria “Opere”, Translated into Romanian,
Introductory study, Study on translations, notes, selective bibliography, index of
german-romanian concepts by Rodica Croitoru. Bucureşti: Editura ALL.
Kant, Immanuel. 1927. Critica puterii de judecată. Analitica frumosului. Translated into Romanian
by I. Gherincea. 3rd edition. Galaţi.
Kant, Immanuel. 2008. Kritik der Urteilskraft. Herausgegeben von Otfried Höffe. Berlin:
Akademie Verlag.
Kant, Immanuel. 2000. The Critique of the Power of Judgment. Edited and translated by Paul
Guyer. Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, Sao
Paolo: Cambridge University Press.
Podico, Maria V. 1793. Русско-молдавский словарь/ Dicţionar rus-moldovenesc. Chişinău: Editura
“Cartea Moldovenească”.
Taminiaux, Jacques. 1976. Des interprétations de la «Critique de la Faculté de Juger» in: Collectin
Philosophica, Actes du Congrès d’Ottawa sur Kant dans les traditions Anglo-Américaine et
continentale tenu du 10 au 14 octobre 1974. Proceedings of the Ottawa Congress on Kant in
the Anglo-American and continental traditions held October 10-14, 1974. Edités par/
Edited by Pierre Laberge, François Duchesneau, Bryan E. Morrisey. Canada:
Éditions de L'Université d'Ottawa, The University of Ottawa Press.
The Blackwell Philosopher Dictionaries. 1995. A Kant Dictionary. Howard Caygill: Blackwell
Reference Publishers.
203
Traduire le darwinisme dans le domaine sociopolitique…
Ciprian JELER *
Traduire le darwinisme dans le domaine
sociopolitique: sur quelques stratégies
(més)interprétatives à l’œuvre
dans le darwinisme social
Translating Darwinism for socio-political matters: on some
(mis)interpretive strategies at work within Social Darwinism
Abstract: This paper revisits Michel Foucault’s idea according to which the notion
of population appears in the administrative domain during the 18th century, then
plays an important role in the elaboration of Darwin’s theory of evolution by
natural selection and then returns to the socio-political domain in the form of
Social Darwinism. Using Foucault’s analysis of variolation, I identify three main
characteristics of the 18th century administrative notion of population and I show
that they indeed play a decisive role in Darwin’s theory of natural selection.
However, using mainly Gustave Le Bon’s example, I show that these
characteristics are often, depending on the demonstrative goals at hand, implicitly
or explicitly denied by Social Darwinists. This strategy is both helped by and
contributes to a large liberty assumed by Social Darwinists with respect to the units
of selection that alternate (again, depending on the various demonstrative goals) in
taking center stage in their discourses.
Keywords: population, Foucault, Darwin, Social Darwinism, Gustave Le Bon,
units of selection
Cet article a comme but la mise à l’épreuve – partielle, sans doute, dans
plusieurs sens du terme – d’une thèse avancée par Michel Foucault dans ses
cours donnés au Collège de France en 1976 et 1978. Une partie de ces cours –
notamment les trois premières leçons de Sécurité, territoire, population et la
toute dernière de « Il faut défendre la société » – est dédiée à la description de la
manière dans laquelle la notion de « population » est parue dans les divers
domaines de l’administration au cours du XVIIIe siècle, a été ensuite reprise
en biologie – surtout avec le développement de la théorie de la sélection
naturelle par Charles Darwin –, pour retourner finalement dans le domaine
sociopolitique dans les travaux des divers auteurs qui sont parfois groupés
sous la catégorie de « darwinistes sociaux ». Notre intervention se propose
de vérifier cette idée foucaldienne du point de vue théorique, et non pas
*
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Ciprian Jeler
historique. En d’autres mots, même si cette filiation historique est très
plausible, il n’est pas inutile de vérifier dans quelle mesure cette notion de
population reste la même lorsqu’elle est ainsi transposée ou traduite d’un
domaine à l’autre, d’un régime discursif à un autre.
Précisons que cette vérification ne peut être ici que très schématique.
Une mise à l’épreuve approfondie de cette thèse constituerait tout un projet
de recherche sur l’apparition et l’évolution de ce terme pendant – au moins –
les deux siècles entre la moitié du XVIIIe et la moitié du XXe. Prétendre de
faire cela dans le cadre d’un court article serait pour le moins présomptueux.
Nous allons donc nous limiter ici à travailler d’une manière schématique. Et
cela, dans deux sens du mot. D’un côté, au lieu de suivre le devenir
historique nuancé de la notion de population, les inflexions mineurs qu’il
subit sans cesse, dans chaque usage, depuis son apparition jusqu’au XXe
siècle et qui ne cessent de le complexifier, nous allons tenter de
« schématiser » cette notion en la réduisant à quelques caractéristiques
principales. Deuxièmement, faute de pouvoir offrir une vision panoramique
qui embrasserait les deux siècles qui sont au cœur de ce propos, nous allons
limiter notre discussion à quelques exemples qui seront pris – à tort ou à
raison – comme représentatifs pour les différents moments ou pour les
différents « passages » d’un domaine à l’autre que cette notion de population
subit. Ce double caractère schématique de notre propos étant annoncé,
notre investigation dans cet article suivra les pas suivants: dans un premier
temps, nous allons utiliser l’analyse de Foucault de la « variolisation » ou de
l’« inoculation » au cours du XVIIIe siècle pour isoler ce qui nous semble
être les traits saillants de la notion de population. Ensuite, nous allons
vérifier si et dans quelle mesure ces traits saillants se trouvent aussi
représentés dans la théorie de la sélection naturelle telle qu’elle est proposée
par Darwin. Enfin, dans un troisième moment, nous allons limiter notre
discussion au darwinisme social en France – et surtout chez Gustave Le
Bon, avec quelques indications tirées aussi de l’œuvre de Georges Vacher de
Lapouge – pour évaluer dans quelle mesure les caractéristiques principales
de la notion de population se retrouvent en son sein.
Notons aussi, dès le début, que nous n’allons pas du tout nous demander
ici si le langage de la « sélection naturelle » peut être légitimement appliqué
aux populations humaines dans la manière dans laquelle l’ont fait les
darwinistes sociaux (et Darwin lui-même dans une certaine mesure). A
priori, notre réponse à cette question serait négative, mais ici n’est pas le lieu
pour l’argumenter. Nous allons pourtant essayer de montrer que ce qu’un
darwiniste social comme Le Bon fait est, en effet, une sorte de transposition
partielle ou fragmentaire du darwinisme dans le domaine sociopolitique, une
traduction lacunaire, si l’on veut. Par cela nous comprenons, d’une manière
très banale, la coexistence, chez Le Bon, dans le cadre d’un même texte,
d’une logique darwinienne avec une logique qui est on ne peut plus
205
étrangère au darwinisme. Autrement dit, les caractéristiques de la notion
darwinienne de population semblent se retrouver chez Le Bon, mais sont,
en effet, écartées dès que les besoins argumentatifs le nécessitent. Le résultat
de cette juxtaposition ou oscillation est un discours qui est darwiniste en
apparence seulement et cette apparence est entretenue par – et entretient en
même temps – un équivoque constant à l’égard du niveau à laquelle la
sélection est censée agir (ou, autrement dit, un équivoque constant à l’égard
des « unités de sélection »).
1. La population et la « variolisation »
Dans les cours de Foucault qui nous concernent ici, la notion de population
joue un rôle central dans la description d’un nouveau régime de pouvoir,
que Foucault appelle « biopouvoir » et qui vient complémenter le pouvoir
disciplinaire. Nous n’avons pas à décrire ici en détail ces deux régimes de
pouvoir, ni à analyser les rapports empiriques ou théoriques qui existent
entre les deux et qui sont, peut-être, plus compliqués que Foucault ne le
laisse parfois pas croire. Il est pourtant important pour nous de noter que ce
que Foucault appelle « biopolitique » ne peut exister en l’absence de l’objet
sur lequel elle s’applique, à savoir la « population »: biopolitique et population
sont essentiellement corrélées, la première n’étant rien d’autre que la prise
en charge ou plutôt, avec le mot de Foucault, la « régularisation » de la
population. Pour faire bref, disons qu’il y a deux éléments qui distinguent
les mécanismes de régularisation des mécanismes disciplinaires. Le premier,
c’est que les objets sur lesquels s’appliquent les mécanismes de régularisation
sont des phénomènes essentiellement ou intrinsèquement globaux,
c’est-à-dire des phénomènes qui n’existent que sur le mode de la totalité –
c’est ce que j’appellerai dans ce qui suit le caractère statistique de la notion
de population. Le deuxième élément distinctif, c’est que ce sont ces
phénomènes eux-mêmes qui fournissent la norme à suivre dans le cadre des
mécanismes de régularisation (tandis que la norme est première dans les
mécanismes disciplinaires et le but est d’infléchir le plus possible le
comportement ou les traits des individus vers cette norme préétablie comme
optimale ou souhaitable). Ces éléments deviendront d’ailleurs plus clairs
pendant notre discussion des caractéristiques de la notion de population –
ou de ce qu’on pourrait appeler « phénomènes populationnels » – autour de
l’exemple de l’intervention préventive contre la variole connue comme
inoculation ou variolisation pendant le XVIIIe siècle. Nous allons traiter ces
trois traits saillants de la notion de population l’un après l’autre dans ce qui
suit.
a) Caractère statistique de la population. L’intervention préventive qui était
l’inoculation consistait à ne plus traiter la maladie comme un phénomène
qui affecte les individus pris à part, mais comme un phénomène qui affecte
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en premier chef une entité globale, collective, totale – la population, donc,
indépendamment, en quelque sorte, de sa réalisation dans des individus
concrets. Car, aux dires de Foucault, dans la variolisation (et plus tard dans
la vaccination) il ne s’agit justement pas « de faire comme on faisait
autrefois, à savoir essayer d’annuler purement et simplement la maladie chez
tous les sujets chez lesquels elle se présente, ou d’empêcher encore que les
sujets qui sont malades aient contact avec ceux qui ne sont pas malades »
(Foucault 2004, 63). Il ne s’agit en somme plus de traiter la maladie comme
un phénomène individuel, en luttant contre elle dans chaque cas individuel
et en essayant de limiter, par l’isolement des individus atteints, le nombre
d’individus affectés. Il s’agit, au contraire de calculer les effets globaux de la
maladie – le taux de mortalité sur toute la « population », par exemple –,
pour pouvoir calculer ensuite si, malgré ses risques, couts et inconvénients,
le taux de mortalité qui accompagne la variolisation rend cette dernière
avantageuse pour la société. C’est ce genre de calcul, en effet, que fera
Bernoulli dès 1760 (Bernoulli 1766). L’efficacité d’un mécanisme de sécurité
ou de régularisation comme l’inoculation résultera de la différence entre
deux taux globaux, à savoir, par exemple, entre les taux de mortalité de la
maladie avec et sans variolisation. On ne lutte donc pas contre la maladie
sur le terrain de l’individu (en essayant de le guérir ou en essayant de faire en
sorte qu’il n’attrape pas la maladie), mais on lutte contre elle sur le terrain de
cette entité collective qui est la population, en répandant des formes moins
violentes de la maladie et en réduisant ainsi les effets de mortalité de la
maladie sur la société vue comme tout. C’est dire que l’efficacité ou
l’opportunité d’une telle intervention ne peut être déterminée que par un
calcul statistique: on sait que la variolisation est loin d’être infaillible, on sait
qu’elle peut s’avérer être mortelle pour une partie des inoculés; pourtant, si
cette fraction est plus petite que celle que caractérise la mortalité habituelle
de la variole (en l’absence de la variolisation), on aura ainsi obtenu des
arguments en faveur de l’inoculation. Le simple fait de proposer l’adoption
de la variolisation comme stratégie publique de lutte contre la variole – et
cette proposition a été faite à maintes reprises au cours du XVIIIe siècle –
implique déjà une manière – nouvelle – de penser la maladie comme un
phénomène qui est à traiter au niveau de la population et non des individus –
c’est-à-dire comme un phénomène statistique.
b) La population comme comportant des sous-catégories ou sous-normes.
Comme nous l’avons déjà noté, penser la maladie au niveau de la population
implique d’abord une quantification de ses effets – comme la mortalité – sur
une société donnée. Dans les termes de Foucault, on a ainsi à faire à un
« repérage du normal » (Foucault 2004, 65): tandis que dans les mécanismes
disciplinaires on dressait d’abord une norme optimale ou souhaitable – la
manière la plus rapide de charger une arme, par exemple – pour essayer de
l’imposer ensuite à chaque individu, dans le cas des mécanismes de
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régularisation c’est au phénomène lui-même que nous devons demander sa
norme à lui, par exemple le taux de mortalité normal ou moyen de la variole.
Ayant pourtant obtenu un tel taux normal, nous pouvons pousser l’analyse
plus loin, et c’est toujours la maladie elle-même qui partagera la population
en une somme de sous-catégories pertinentes: si la mortalité est plus haute
dans certaines catégories d’âge (les enfants de moins de trois ans, par
exemple), alors le critère d’âge sera pertinent pour la division de la
population en sous-catégories. Pourtant, et c’est un fait important, c’est
seulement la maladie qui décide des critères pertinents pour ces divisions en
sous-catégories ou sous-normes.
c) Immanentisme de la population. On obtient ainsi, affirme Foucault, des
sous-normes ou des sous-normalités (des taux différents chez certaines
catégories d’âge), et l’un des buts d’une intervention de régularisation serait
celle de viser à « rabattre les normalités les plus défavorables, les plus
déviantes par rapport à la courbe normale, générale, [de] les rabattre sur
cette courbe normale, générale » (Foucault 2004, 64), d’essayer de rapprocher
le plus possible les taux ou les courbes les plus déviantes du taux ou de la
courbe générale moyenne. Mais, et cela est important pour notre propos,
Foucault ajoute aussitôt que le taux ou le niveau moyen général « se
trouvera d’ailleurs lui-même déplacé par le fait qu’une tranche des individus
qui figurent à l’intérieur de cette population générale se trouvera avoir une
morbidité ou une mortalité plus faibles » (Foucault 2004, 64-65). Voici une
caractéristique importante que nous appellerons, faut d’un terme meilleur,
« immanentisme » des phénomènes populationnels. Il s’agit de l’idée
qu’intervenir sur une sous-catégorie de la population change le caractère
moyen de cette population en entier: réduire l’incidence de la variole – et,
par conséquent, le taux de mortalité – chez les enfants de moins de trois ans
modifie immédiatement, automatiquement le tout, l’entité globale dont cette
sous-catégorie fait partie. Cela n’est, bien entendu, qu’une conséquence du
caractère purement statistique à la fois de la sous-catégorie et de l’entité
globale.
2. La « pensée populationnelle » chez Darwin
Nous allons maintenant essayer de vérifier si les caractéristiques essentielles
de la pensée populationnelle de la variole brièvement analysées plus haut se
retrouvent dans la théorie de la sélection naturelle de Darwin. Car, selon
Foucault, avec Darwin on passe « du milieu de vie, dans son rapport
constitutif à l’organisme, à la population, population dont Darwin a pu
montrer qu’elle était, en fait, l’élément à travers lequel le milieu produisait
ses effets sur l’organisme » (Foucault 2004, 79). L’innovation est capitale.
Lamarck, par exemple, devait penser le rapport entre organisme et milieu
comme « une action directe et comme un modelage de l’organisme par le
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milieu » (ibid.): en d’autres mots, il pensait que le milieu affectait directement
les traits des organismes, et c’étaient ces effets individuels qui étaient ensuite
passés à la génération suivante. Il n’en est pas de même pour Darwin: le
milieu n’est plus censé agir sur les caractéristiques mêmes des individus. Il
suffit que, dans un milieu donné, certains individus – ceux possédant un
certain trait, par exemple – survivent mieux ou qu’ils soient plus féconds: la
génération suivante se trouvera ainsi modifiée sans que le milieu ait un
rapport direct avec les caractéristiques des organismes. En d’autres mots, le
milieu n’est plus censé agir sur les organismes eux-mêmes: il agit sur – et ses
effets sont ainsi identifiables seulement au niveau de – la population. C’est
en ce sens, il nous semble, que doit être interprété l’affirmation de Foucault
selon laquelle « c’est la problématisation, donc, de la population à l’intérieur
de cette analyse des êtres vivants qui a permis de passer de l’histoire
naturelle à la biologie » (Foucault 2004, 80).
Il n’est donc pas surprenant que, déjà en 1959, Ernst Mayr avait
crédité Darwin d’avoir remplacé la pensée « typologique » avec la pensée
« populationnelle » en biologie: c’est cette modification à la fois profonde et
subtile qui, argumente Mayr, rend possible sa théorie de la sélection
naturelle. Selon Mayr, la pensée typologique conçoit l’espèce comme étant
un « type » idéal – presqu’une idée platonicienne – dont les individus
concrets ne font qu’approximer les caractéristiques: le « type » est ainsi
premier et il est, en fait, le seul réel; les variations individuelles, quant à elles,
ne sont que des écarts par rapport au type, elles n’ont donc, en effet, qu’une
existence secondaire par rapport au type et, qui plus est, n’ont qu’une
existence négative dans le sens où elles ne décrivent que l’impossibilité des
individus concrets d’incarner parfaitement le type idéel. Mayr va donc
jusqu’à dire que les variations individuelles sont ainsi des « illusions »
(Mayr 1959, 2; voir aussi Mayr 2002, 79-94). Pour une pensée de type
populationnel, au contraire, ce sont les variations individuelles qui existent
en premier, alors que le type n’est qu’une abstraction obtenue par des
calculs statistiques (la moyenne, par exemple). Nous retrouvons ainsi le
premier trait de la notion de population: son caractère intrinsèquement
statistique. Prenons, par exemple, cette phrase de Darwin, une phrase en
apparence très conventionnelle et où rien ne semble se jouer: « je considère
le terme espèce comme appliqué arbitrairement, par pure commodité, à un
ensemble d’individus se ressemblant de près » (Darwin 1873 [1859], 57).
Au premier abord, on aurait l’impression que rien ne distingue le
« typologisme » du « populationnisme » dans cette phrase: tant que c’est la
ressemblance qui est posée comme critère, tant qu’un individu est dit
appartenir à une espèce sur des critères de ressemblance on pourrait avoir
l’impression qu’on n’est pas ici très loin du typologisme. Pourtant, il y a une
seule expression qui nous en éloigne, et c’est l’expression « each other » (« se
ressemblent »): les individus doivent se ressembler les uns aux autres pour
209
qu’on dise qu’ils appartiennent à la même espèce. Ils ne doivent pas
ressembler à un modèle, à un type, la ressemblance est, pour ainsi dire, toute
entière relative au set d’individus donné et non pas à quelque critère qui soit
extérieur à ce set. C’est affirmer, du même coup, et la primordialité de
la variabilité (on commence avec les individus, chacun ayant ses traits
particuliers, et on établit seulement ensuite dans qu’elle mesure ils se
ressemblent), et le fait que les caractéristiques de l’espèce n’ont de réalité
que statistique: les caractéristiques des espèces ne sont que la moyenne des
propriétés des individus effectivement existants à un moment donné.
Ajoutons qu’il faut distinguer ce que nous venons de dire de certains
débats qui ont lieu sur d’autres problèmes relevés par la question
darwinienne d’espèce, par exemple ceux qui visent à déterminer si Darwin
était un réaliste ou un nominaliste par rapport à l’espèce en tant que
catégorie (voir, par exemple, Stamos 1996), ou s’il avait ou non une
définition de la notion ou de la catégorie d’espèce elle-même (voir Stamos
2013). Ce que nous affirmons ici, c’est que les caractéristiques d’une espèce
n’ont qu’une existence statistique – et pour cela il n’est pas nécessaire de
savoir (il est, en effet, indifférent de savoir) si Darwin était nominaliste
quant aux espèces ou non, ou s’il avait une définition précise de la catégorie
d’espèce elle-même.
Et si ces caractéristiques n’ont qu’une existence statistique, cela veut
aussi dire qu’elles peuvent changer. Et, comme nous l’avons déjà annoncé
dans la discussion des remarques de Foucault sur Darwin, la manière dans
laquelle ces caractéristiques changent rejoignent les deux autres traits
essentiels de la notion de la notion de population identifiés plus haut. Si la
théorie de la sélection naturelle présuppose, comme nous l’avons vu, une
primordialité de la variabilité, cela implique aussi que chaque set ou collection d’individus – chaque « population » donnée – présentera toujours un
nombre pratiquement indéfini de sous-catégories potentielles. Plus concrètement,
les individus d’une collection donnée peuvent potentiellement être rangés
dans une multitude de sous-catégories selon, par exemple, leur couleur, leur
taille, ou plus généralement, selon leurs particularités anatomiques, morphologiques ou de comportement. Pourtant, c’est l’environnement seul qui
décidera quelle propriété ou propriétés seront pertinentes du point de
vue sélectif. C’est ce qui transparaît lorsque Darwin dit, par exemple,
que « La sélection naturelle n’agit jamais que d’une façon expérimentale
[tentative]. Certains individus, certaines races ont pu acquérir des avantages
incontestables et, cependant, périr faut de posséder certains autres
caractères » (Darwin 1891 [1871], 153). Ce sont les circonstances, le milieu
qui décident quel est le trait avantageux à un moment donné, et tous les
individus d’une population donnée sont alors « rangés » ainsi en plusieurs
sous-catégories, en fonction de leur possession et du degré de leur
possession de ce trait. Les sous-catégories d’une population sont donc
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déterminées par l’environnement (qui impose le critère pertinent pour la
catégorisation et son importance, tout comme, plus haut, la variole, avec ses
taux de morbidité ou de mortalité, opérait une division de la population en
sous-catégories). Et précisément parce qu’elles sont déterminées par
l’environnement, ces sous-catégories ne sont pas données en bloc et une
fois pour toutes, mais, au contraire, manifestent une certaine « fluidité », et
cela dans un double sens. D’abord, une fluidité qu’on pourrait appeler
« dimensionnelle », dans le sens où, pour un individu, se trouver dans une
sous-catégorie défavorisée par rapport à un trait donné ne signifie pas
que le même individu ne peut pas se trouver dans une catégorie
favorisée, selon un autre critère ou selon la catégorisation qui découle
d’un autre trait pertinent, lui-aussi, dans le même milieu (Mayr 1959, 4).
Et, deuxièmement, une fluidité temporelle, dans le sens où les traits
pertinents pour la détermination des sous-catégories peuvent changer (et
changent effectivement) avec l’environnement.
Nous arrivons ainsi à la troisième caractéristique de la population, ce que
nous avons appelé l’immanentisme. Car la moindre intervention dans une
partie ou une sous-catégorie d’une collection d’individus entraîne une
modification des caractéristiques globales de cette population ou même de
cette espèce. Si le milieu défavorise une catégorie donnée et éventuellement
l’élimine, cela affecte automatiquement les caractéristiques globales de la
population ou de l’espèce donnée, précisément parce que ces caractéristiques
ne sont que la moyenne statistique des caractéristiques des individus qui les
composent. Il ne s’agit donc pas de dire, comme en économie, par exemple,
qu’un changement local – par exemple, la croissance du prix d’une matière
première, disons du pétrole – entrainera, par des mécanismes intermédiaires,
toutes sortes de changements dans d’autres domaines économiques. Il s’agit
de dire qu’un changement dans une sous-catégorie entrainera, sans aucun
intermédiaire, un changement des caractéristiques du tout, à travers une
relation logique et non pas causale. Par-delà le gradualisme de Darwin, qui,
au moins pour la question de la spéciation a été parfois contesté depuis,
c’est cela qui est affirmé dans des phrases comme celle-ci: « Quant à la
conformation physique, c’est la sélection des individus un peu mieux doués
et l’élimination de ceux qui le sont un peu moins, et non la conformation
d’anomalies rares et prononcés, qui détermine l’amélioration d’une espèce »
(Darwin 1891 [1871], 148). Notons en passant qu’il n’est pas nécessaire que
ce changement soit pour le mieux, comme le terme « amélioration des
espèces » utilisé par Darwin le laisse croire. Même si les écrits de Darwin
nous laissent peut-être suspecter qu’il avait une telle propension à établir un
rapport étroit entre l’évolution par sélection naturelle et le progrès, ses
déclarations explicites vont parfois contre cette idée, par exemple lorsqu’il
affirme que: « Nous devons nous souvenir que le progrès n’est pas une règle
invariable » (Darwin 1891 [1871], 152).
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Il semble donc que Foucault (et Mayr aussi) semble avoir vu juste, et que
les trois traits saillants de la notion de population telle qu’elle surgit dans le
domaine de l’administration au cours du XVIIIe siècle se retrouvent dans la
théorie de la sélection naturelle de Darwin. Et cela malgré le fait que Darwin
réserve le terme de « population » pour les communautés humaines, alors
que, pour ce que nous appelons aujourd’hui « populations biologiques » il
tend à employer des termes comme « communautés », « collections
d’individus », « set d’individus », etc.
3. Population et darwinisme social
Par « darwinisme social » nous comprenons ici l’ensemble d’auteurs – ou
plutôt de leurs œuvres – qui ont tenté d’utiliser l’appareil conceptuel de la
théorie de la sélection naturelle non seulement pour essayer d’expliquer les
origines de l’homme ou de certaines de ses caractéristiques générales
présentes (le langage articulé, pour prendre un exemple à l’hasard), mais
pour comprendre les rapports interhumains dans les sociétés existantes
(qu’il s’agisse donc des rapports ayant lieu à l’intérieur des sociétés dites
« civilisées » – la « concurrence » entre les classes, les sexes ou les nations –
ou bien des rapports entre ces sociétés et d’autres dont le degré de
« civilisation » est prétendu moindre – rapports de colonisation, par
exemple). Précisons que, de ce point de vue, Darwin lui-même peut être
considéré un darwiniste social, dans le sens où, par exemple, un souschapitre de La descendance de l’homme est dédié à « La sélection naturelle
considérée au point de vue de son action sur les nations civilisées ». Cette
tendance à lier les phénomènes sociaux et le darwinisme a eu une forte et
rapide évolution après la publication de l’Origine des espèces en 1859, et ses
influences sont encore bien visibles jusqu’à l’époque de la Seconde Guerre
mondiale.
Notre question ici n’est pas celle de comprendre pourquoi le darwinisme
a été si rapidement adopté comme un langage capable de rendre compte des
rapports sociaux. Ou, pour reprendre les termes de Foucault, nous n’allons
pas essayer de comprendre ici pourquoi l’évolutionnisme « est devenu, tout
naturellement, en quelques années au XIXe siècle, non pas simplement une
manière de transcrire en termes biologiques le discours politique, non pas
simplement une manière de cacher un discours politique sous un vêtement
scientifique, mais vraiment une manière de penser les rapports de
colonisation, la nécessités des guerres, la criminalité, les phénomènes de la
folie et de la maladie mentale, l’histoire des sociétés avec leurs différentes
classes, etc. Autrement dit, chaque fois qu’il y a eu affrontement, mise à
mort, lutte, risque de mort, c’est dans la forme de l’évolutionnisme que l’on
a été contraint, littéralement, de les penser » (Foucault 1997, 229).
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Notre question ici n’est donc pas celle de comprendre l’origine, les
mécanismes et la rapide mise au travail de cet étroit rapport entre la
théorie de l’évolution et les discours de pouvoir. Nous allons, au contraire,
essayer de comprendre quelles ont été les transformations tacites ou les
mésinterprétations du darwinisme qui étaient d’habitude opérées pour
« ajuster » le discours darwiniste aux différentes questions abordées par les
darwinistes sociaux (lutte entre classes, colonisation, etc.). Mais il y a
une deuxième question qui nous intéresse ici et qui est directement liée
à la première. Il s’agit de savoir qu’est-ce qui fait que, malgré ces
mésinterprétations ou ajustements du darwinisme, les discours des
darwinistes sociaux réussissent encore à garder une apparence darwinienne –
qu’est-ce qui fait, pour le dire autrement, que ces discours semblent encore
être darwiniens au moment même où ils s’éloignent de ou falsifient certains
éléments du darwinisme (ou, du moins, du darwinisme tel que nous le
rencontrons dans l’études des vivants non-humains dans la biologie
évolutionniste après Darwin). C’est à cette double question – ou peut-être
même cette seule question à double face – que nous allons essayer de
répondre par la suite en nous référant brièvement à l’exemple de Gustave
Le Bon, que nous allons parfois compléter avec quelques aperçus de l’œuvre
de Georges Vacher de Lapouge.
Le livre de 1881 de Gustave Le Bon, L’homme et les sociétés, se veut une
grande fresque de l’évolution des sociétés humaines et des facteurs qui l’ont
influencée, facteurs parmi lesquels la sélection du plus fort ou la lutte pour
l’existence occupe une place proéminente. Par conséquent, ce livre noue
ensemble la plupart des thèmes des darwinistes sociaux de l’époque, les
rapports de colonisation, la compétition entre des diverses catégories
sociales, les rapports entre homme et femme étant donc compris à travers
une trame conceptuelle d’allure évolutionniste. Pourtant, à y regarder de
plus près, les considérations de Le Bon semblent mélanger des positions
darwinistes avec des positions complètement non-darwinistes; ou, pour
le dire brutalement, l’une des caractéristiques essentielles de la notion
darwinienne de population semble à la fois affirmée et infirmée dans le texte
de Le Bon. Comme nous l’avons vu plus haut, dans le cas de la théorie de la
sélection naturelle, c’est le milieu qui décide quel trait ou traits sont
pertinents à un moment donné, et c’est donc lui aussi qui divise la
population donnée en sous-catégories, en fonction de chaque trait pertinent.
Pourtant, Le Bon – comme beaucoup d’autres darwinistes sociaux, par
ailleurs – semble à la fois soutenir cette idée et découpler la question de la
division en sous-catégories d’une population donnée de la question de
l’environnement.
Prenons l’exemple des rapports coloniaux et de la question des
croisements entre les diverses races humaines. Le Bon se montre d’abord
très favorable à l’idée – qu’il semble pourtant décliner parfois d’une façon
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plutôt lamarckienne que darwinienne – selon laquelle c’est l’environnement
qui joue un rôle prépondérant dans le façonnement des « races » humaines.
Il va jusqu’à dire que « l’Anglais qui va en Amérique tend, dès la seconde
génération, à se rapprocher du type du Peau-Rouge. Le fait a été reconnu
par trop d’observateurs pour pouvoir être contesté » (Le Bon 1881, I, 198).
Pourtant, à peine deux pages plus loin, dans un endroit où il donne des
arguments contre les croisements entre ce qu’il appelle des « races trèsinégales » nous pouvons lire cette phrase: « N’est-il pas préférable, pour le
progrès de la civilisation, que l’Australie et l’Amérique soient peuplées par
ces Anglais dont l’initiative et l’intelligence en ont fait de si puissantes
contrées, que de l’être par les produits abâtardies qui auraient pu naître de
leurs croisements avec les indigènes ? » (Le Bon 1881, I, 200). L’influence
du milieu se trouve ainsi écartée ou oubliée aussitôt après avoir été posée –
en effet, si le milieu américain pousse de toute façon les colonisateurs
Anglais vers le « type du Peau-Rouge », pourquoi le fait d’urgenter cette
transformation par des croisements serait-il à tel point indésirable ?
Cette question est compliquée davantage par le fait que, selon Le Bon,
les races humaines constituent des espèces différentes – sinon même des
genres différents (Le Bon 1881, I, 202) – quoiqu’il ne se prononce pas sur la
question de savoir si ces « espèces » ont une origine commune ou non
(Ibidem, 201). Ni n’explique pas comment, à partir d’une telle position, nous
pouvons nous contenter d’un critère géographico-politique pour distinguer
les races (race Anglaise, Allemande, Française, Australienne, etc.) tout en
admettant que ces races sont l’effet des longues époques de croisement
d’éléments d’origines très diverses et de l’action d’un milieu donné, qui ont
fini par former des « races homogènes » (Le Bon 1881, I, 208). Le milieu
semble donc à la fois contribuer à la formation d’un « type » donné, mais en
même temps ces types semblent être subrepticement présupposés ou traités,
en fonction des nécessités de la démonstration, comme des types idéaux qui
préexistent à et survivront en tant que types à leurs encontre avec des
milieux donnés. Nous assistons ainsi à un « durcissement » des souscatégories opéré par Le Bon.
Nous devons ajouter que, dans un livre important qui nous a beaucoup
servi de guide ici, Mike Hawkins affirme que l’un des facteurs qui a facilité
l’apparition et le développement du darwinisme social était la flexibilité du
darwinisme quant aux unités de sélection, les caractéristiques formelles du
processus de sélection (qu’on rencontre par exemple, chez Darwin – 1871
[1891], 194 – dans une forme très similaire à celle, très influente aujourd’hui,
donnée par Lewontin 1970) pouvant être appliquées aussi bien aux
individus, aux groupes d’individus (ruches, familles), peut-être même aux
espèces (Hawkins 1997, 33-34). Cette idée est soutenue par le fait que
beaucoup de darwinistes sociaux recourent à des arguments basés sur
l’action de la sélection naturelle à des niveaux supérieurs à l’individu: c’est le
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cas de Sydney Webb, Ludwig Gumplozicz, plus tard Georges Valois, et bien
d’autres. C’est donc ainsi que, à l’égard de Le Bon, Hawkins souligne « sa
présentation de l’évolution comme une force agissant pour le bénéfice
de l’espèce, plutôt que de l’individu. Soutient Le Bon: “Elle n’est ni
bienveillante ni cruelle la nature. Elle songe seulement à l’espèce et reste
indifférente – formidablement indifférente, – envers l’individu“ (Le Bon
1898, 375). L’espèce – ou sa contrepartie humaine, la race – est devenu la
référence contre laquelle le potentiel progressif ou dégénératif du
changement avait à être jugé » (Hawkins 1997, 189, notre traduction).
Il nous semble que Hawkins frôle ici une ambigüité significative, mais ne
la met pas entièrement en évidence. Car si les « races » humaines sont autant
d’espèces pour Le Bon (« nous continuos à employer fréquemment le mot
race parce qu’il est le plus usité, mais en le considérant pour l’homme
comme synonyme d’espèce » – Le Bon 1881, I, 204) il devient très difficile à
comprendre à quoi il se réfère lorsqu’il affirme que « chez tous les être
vivants, depuis l’insecte jusqu’à l’homme, la sélection qui résulte du combat
pour l’existence restera toujours la condition essentielle du progrès » (Le
Bon 1881, I, 196). Quel est l’homme auquel se réfère l’expression « progrès
de l’homme » (ibid.): est-ce la « totalité » des hommes ou seulement certaines
« races » privilégiées ? Il nous semble que cette ambigüité entretenue par Le
Bon joue un rôle important dans ses considérations.
Il faudrait ajouter ici, d’une manière plus générale, que nous essayerons,
dans ce qui suit, de nuancer l’idée de Hawkins et de montrer que non
seulement la flexibilité du darwinisme quant aux unités de sélection facilite
la tâche des darwinistes sociaux, mais que, en plus: a) ceux-ci entretiennent
une indécision constante entre les niveaux de la sélection qui ne caractérisait
sans doute pas la position darwinienne; b) et cette indécision constante est
elle-même facilitée par et facilite en même temps la négation, souvent
opérée par les darwinistes sociaux, des caractéristiques principales de la
notion de population indiquées plus haut.
Mobilisant moins d’éléments conceptuels, un autre exemple illustre peutêtre mieux cette idée. Le Bon fournit un argument assez compliqué pour
justifier pourquoi il ne faudrait pas donner aux femmes la même éducation
qu’aux hommes (et, par conséquent, ni les mêmes emplois). Son
raisonnement semble être celui qu’en donnant, dans les sociétés modernes,
aux femmes la même éducation qu’aux hommes, on aurait en fait opéré une
sorte de sélection, dans le sens ou, au lieu de se réduire, la différence entre le
volume du crâne féminin et celui du crâne masculin a augmenté – et, par là,
conclut Le Bon, la différence d’intelligence aussi. Bien entendu, il y a
beaucoup de trous dans cet argument (qui n’explique pas, par exemple,
comment les traits d’un sexe sont transmis au même sexe dans la génération
suivante, sans pourtant être aussi transmis à l’autre sexe). Mais ce qui est
plus important pour nous ici, c’est que Le Bon prétend que les mesures
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effectuées pour établir l’évolution des différences entre les sexes du volume
du crâne confirment le raisonnement théorique suivant: « La civilisation ne
pouvant agir également sur des intelligences inégales, et les plus développées
devant nécessairement en profiter davantage que celles qui le sont moins, il
est facile de voir, par des considérations mathématiques élémentaires, que la
différence qui les sépare doit aller en augmentant à chaque génération » (Le
Bon 1881, II, 151).
Selon un tel argument, les sociétés civilisées constituent une sorte de
milieu sélectif où sont favorisées les intelligences supérieures. Pourtant, en
admettant pour un instant un telle présupposition, une logique « populationniste » telle que nous l’avons explicitée ci-dessus nous pousserait à nous
représenter plusieurs catégories de personnes à l’intérieur d’une société
donnée, rangées selon leur niveau d’intelligence – et cela indépendamment
de leur race ou de leur sexe. Voilà ce que refuse, justement, Le Bon, car,
lorsqu’il décrit les résultats de ces mesures sur le volume du crâne il note:
« On ne saurait nier, sans doute, qu’il existe des femmes fort distinguées,
très-supérieures à la moyenne des hommes, mais ce sont là des cas aussi
exceptionnels que la naissance d’une monstruosité quelconque, telle, par
exemple, qu’un gorille à deux têtes, et par conséquent négligeables
entièrement » (Le Bon 1881, II, 158).
Au lieu d’être intégrées dans la sous-catégorie des intelligences
supérieures – et donc peut-être aussi de recevoir, selon le raisonnement de
Le Bon, une éducation « semblable à celle de l’homme » – ces femmes « fort
distinguées » sont rangées dans la catégorie des monstruosités. En d’autres
termes, les sociétés civilisés sont bien des milieux sélectifs favorisant les
intelligences supérieures – mais pas pour les femmes ! Le Bon ne suit donc
pas son raisonnement de type sélectif jusqu’au but: au lieu de conclure
que c’est le milieu donné qui « range » les individus dans certaines
sous-catégories, il se contente de ranger les individus selon des critères
extérieures: homme et femme sont ainsi des catégories plus fortes et plus
importantes que celles qu’un argument de type sélectif, suivi jusqu’au but,
aurait entraîné. La société moderne est ainsi conçue comme un milieu
sélectif, mais les sous-catégories de la population qui s’y trouve ne sont plus
établies par le milieu, mais sont supposées préétablies. Lorsque les
sous-catégories perdent ainsi leurs flexibilité ou leur rapport direct avec
l’environnement, nous arrivons dans cette bizarre situation où le milieu est
encore (supposé comme étant) darwinien, mais la population qui s’y trouve
ne l’est plus. La difficulté de séparer d’un seul coup d’œil ce qui est
darwinien de ce qui ne l’est pas chez Le Bon – comme chez d’autres
darwinistes sociaux – vient, à notre avis, de cet agencement paradoxal.
Or, cet agencement paradoxal est corrélé – dans le sens où il la soutient
et est à son tour soutenu par elle – à une grande liberté dans le choix des
unités sur lesquelles la sélection est supposée agir dans un milieu donné, où,
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pour le dire autrement, une grande latitude quant aux « unités de sélection »
dans des situations données. Rappelons que, pour Darwin, la sélection avait
lieu primordialement au niveau des individus et il ne recourait à l’idée de
sélection à des niveaux d’organisation biologiques plus larges que comme un
dernier recours, dans les cas où l’évolution ou la persistance de certains
traits des individus ne pouvaient pas être expliquées par la sélection au
niveau d’individus. C’est ainsi que, pour expliquer la persistance de la
stérilité de certaines castes d’insectes sociales ou l’altruisme chez l’homme,
Darwin recourt à l’idée que la sélection naturelle peut agir aussi sur des
groupes d’individus: par exemple, une ruche où la division du travail est
plus nette (où les abeilles travailleuses, par exemple, sont spécialisées
précisément pour le travail et ne se reproduisent par conséquent plus) peut
être favorisée par rapport à d’autres ruches où la division du travail est
moins poussée (Darwin 1873 [1859], 257-263 et 1891 [1871], 143). Mais
c’était là une solution de dernier recours, à laquelle Darwin appelait
seulement parce qu’il ne trouvait pas une explication de ces traits par un
processus sélectif agissant au niveau des individus. Pourtant, chez un auteur
comme Le Bon, le choix des unités de sélection dans un milieu donné est
extrêmement libre et très souvent, chez lui, la sélection est conçue comme
agissant d’emblée sur des entités plus larges, composées d’individus mais
dont les caractéristiques sont tout de même supposées préétablies. Voici un
exemple: « On a dit avec raison que, dans un pays peuplé de mille Saxons et
de mille Celtes, les cinq sixièmes de la population seront Celtes après une
douzaine de générations; mais que le sixième restant, composé de Saxons,
possédera les cinq sixièmes des biens, du pouvoir et de l’intelligence. Bien
qu’étant moins nombreux, ils deviendront et resteront maîtres […] Ce n’est
pas le nombre, mais la qualité des habitants d’une contrée qui en fait la
valeur» (Le Bon 1881, II, 105).
Deux choses sautent aux yeux dans un tel exemple. Tout d’abord, le
caractère statistique de la population, tel que nous l’avons vu plus haut, est
oblitéré: les caractéristiques d’une population comme celle à laquelle se
réfère ici Le Bon ne sont sans doute pas les caractéristiques moyennes des
individus qui la composent, mais sont toutes entières données par ses
habitants de « race supérieure ». Deuxièmement, il semble qu’entre des
« types » différents (qu’il s’agisse de races, sexes, etc.) il n’y a pas de
comparaison possible que qualitative: c’est leur qualité intrinsèque ou qualité
« en soi », en quelque sorte, qui fait que l’un soit supérieur ou inférieur à
l’autre. Et la sélection, ici, si l’on peut encore utiliser ce terme, a lieu entre
des types, car « les races inférieures disparaissent rapidement au contact des
races supérieures » (Le Bon 1881, I, 200). On se retrouve ainsi dans la
même situation paradoxale dans laquelle une société donnée est supposée
comme constituant un milieu sélectif, mais, en même temps, ce milieu ne
semble jouer aucun rôle dans le choix des propriétés pertinentes des unités
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qui sont censées être soumises à la sélection. Les propriétés des types, des
races, etc. semblent être données en bloc et une fois pour toutes. Ou, pour
le dire plus clairement, si la comparaison entre des types doit être une
comparaison qualitative, il résulte que la sélection – si l’on peut encore
l’appeler ainsi – semble avoir lieu en premier lieu entre des types idéaux qui
sont instanciés par des individus, mais dont les caractéristiques ne dépendent
pas, elles-mêmes, des propriétés de ces individus.
Pourtant – et l’apparence de darwinisme en dépend largement – il y a
aussi chez Le Bon des endroits précis où les caractéristiques des types
semblent redevenir des moyennes statistiques des caractéristiques des
individus qui les composent, notamment là où il s’agit de justifier la
nécessité de certaines mesures sociales ou la nécessité d’entraver certains
mécanismes d’aide ou de protection sociale. Nous voyons cela dans des
affirmations comme la suivante: « Dans les temps modernes, les efforts de
la philanthropie ont considérablement restreint cette sélection [à savoir « la
concurrence sous ses diverses formes » qui tendait « au premiers âges de
l’humanité » à éliminer « les plus faibles »], et il en résulte que chaque société
contient aujourd’hui un nombre parfois considérable d’individus non
adaptés à ses conditions d’existence, incapables de pourvoir à leurs besoins.
[…] Si les Etats-Unis sont arrivés si rapidement au degré de prospérité qui
les caractérise, c’est qu’ils se sont formés par la réunion des hommes les
plus énergiques, les plus entreprenants et les plus vigoureux de l’Europe, et
que tout individu ne possédant pas ces qualités disparaissait fatalement, et
ne pouvait par conséquent altérer la race par ses descendants » (Le Bon
1881, II, 95-96).
Ici c’est la « qualité » moyenne d’un pays et non pas la qualité de sa
couche supérieure qui donne la « valeur » de ce pays. Plus encore, ici la
simple multiplication des « éléments inférieures » (Le Bon 1881, II, 105)
implique une « altération de la race », ce qui semble réintroduire le
statisticalisme et l’immanentisme populationnels indiqués plus haut. Des
passages comme celui-ci semblent donc suggérer une vision plus orthodoxe
de la sélection, dans le sens où elle est conçue ici comme ayant lieu entre des
individus et comme modifiant les caractéristiques du « type » que ces
individus composent (c’est « l’altération de la race » dont parle Le Bon).
Comme nous l’avons déjà affirmé, la difficulté de suivre les considérations
de Le Bon mais aussi l’apparence de darwinisme que son texte dégage
découlent, en partie, au moins, de l’indistinction constante entretenue entre
des diverses unités de sélection ou l’oscillation continuelle et non-réglée
entre plusieurs « niveaux de sélection ». Ce point est confirmé si nous
observons la facilité avec laquelle on peut faire proliférer des types d’une
manière ad hoc, à l’intérieur d’une seule société ou nation, comme dans le cas
de la citation antérieure de Le Bon: malades mentaux, phtisiques (voir Le
Bon 1881, I, 133-134), criminels, etc. – voici autant de catégories ou types
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qui peuvent à chaque instant être « durcies » au gré des nécessités
démonstratives, et cela par la simple assomption que ce genre d’affections
ou comportements sont strictement héréditaires et qu’ils peuvent donner
une description quasi-complète d’un individu et du rôle social qu’il jouera.
Nous nous trouvons ainsi, encore une fois, en pleine indistinction entre une
position qui conçoit la sélection comme ayant lieu entre des individus et une
position qui la conçoit comme ayant lieu entre des unités plus larges, qui
sont seulement instanciées par des individus, mais dont les caractéristiques
n’en dépendent pas directement.
4. Conclusion
Les principales caractéristiques de la notion de population, telles que nous
les avons identifiées dans l’analyse foucaldienne de la variolisation au XVIIIe
siècle, semblent donc se retrouver (et jouer un rôle essentiel) dans le cadre
de la théorie de la sélection naturelle chez Darwin. Pourtant, dans les
travaux de certains darwinistes sociaux – comme Le Bon ou Vacher de
Lapouge –, en fonction des nécessités démonstratives, ces éléments sont
souvent ignorés ou mis hors circuit, le résultat étant un discours inégal, qui
juxtapose des positions darwiniennes avec des positions clairement nondarwiniennes. Ce mélange est facilité par et facilite en même temps une
oscillation constante entre plusieurs niveau de la sélection ou une grande
liberté à l’égard des unités de sélection qui prennent – encore une fois, selon
les nécessités démonstratives du moment – le centre de la scène dans de tels
discours.
Notes
Notons en passage que, à la même chair que Foucault allait occuper au Collège de France,
Merleau-Ponty avait nommé, dans son cours de 1959-1960, les phénomènes statistiques des
« phénomènes-enveloppe »: voici une expression qui capte bien le fait que de telles
phénomènes ne peuvent pas être surpris au niveau du contenu empirique proprement dit,
si l’on veut, des faits étudiés, mais seulement à l’analyse de la globalité qu’ils forment (cf.,
par exemple, Merleau-Ponty 1995, 318-319).
2 Dans son cours de science politique donné à l’Université de Montpellier en 1888-1889,
Georges Vacher de Lapouge se prononcera très fortement contre cette identification des
races avec les nations (Lapouge 1896, 8). Selon lui, l’histoire récente peut être lue comme
une sorte de dynamique compétitive entre deux « races » humaines (Homo Europaeus et
Homo Alpinus) qui sont différenciées, entre autres, par leur indice céphalique (le premier
étant dolichocéphale, tandis que le dernier était brachycéphale).
3 « L’infériorité du volume du crâne de la femme, comparé à celui de l’homme,
principalement dans les races supérieures, est-elle accompagnée d’une infériorité intellectuelle correspondante ? Cette dernière infériorité est trop évidente, je crois, pour être
contestée un instant, et on ne peut guerre discuter que sur son degré » (Le Bon 1881, II, 157).
4 Quant à lui, Georges Vacher de Lapouge ne nous laisse pas douter qu’il existe une
supériorité « en soi » de certains « types », c’est-à-dire une supériorité absolue qui n’est pas
1
219
relative à un milieu donné: « Les individus supérieurs en soi sont relativement inférieurs
quand ils ont moins de chances de succès ou de postérité, en raison du milieu social dans
lequel ils luttent pour la vie » (Lapouge 1896, 67). Pour Darwin, la supériorité de certains
individus biologiques par rapport d’autres était toujours relative, elle était toujours une
fonction de l’environnement donné. Parler, comme le fait Vacher de Lapouge, d’une
supériorité en soi, d’un supériorité qui n’est justement pas décidée par les propriétés du
milieu donné ne fait donc pas de sens du point de vue de Darwin.
Acknowledgement: This article was supported by a grant of the Romanian National
Authority for Scientific Research and Innovation, CNCS – UEFISCDI, project number
PN-II-RU-TE-2014-4-2653.
Références
Bernoulli, Daniel. 1766. « Essai d’une nouvelle analyse de la mortalité causée par la petite
vérole et des avantages de l’inoculation pour la prévenir ». Histoires et Mémoires de
l’Académie des sciences 2: 1-45.
Darwin, Charles. 1873 [1859]. L’origine des espèces au moyen de la sélection naturelle ou la lutte pour
l’existence dans la nature. Traduit de l’anglais par J.-J. Moulinié. Paris: C. Reinwald et Cie.
Darwin, Charles. 1891 [1871]. La descendance de l’homme et la sélection sexuelle. Traduit de
l’anglais par Edmond Barbier. Paris: C. Reinwald et Cie.
Foucault, Michel. 1997. « Il faut défendre la société ». Cours au Collège de France (19751976). Paris: EHESS/Seuil/Gallimard.
Foucault, Michel. 2004. Sécurité, territoire, population. Cours au Collège de France (1977-1978).
Paris: Seuil/Gallimard.
Hawkins, Mike. 1997. Social Darwinism in European and American thought, 1860-1945. Nature as
a model and nature as a threat. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Lapouge, G. Vacher de. Les sélections sociales. Cours libre de philosophie politique professé à
l’Université de Montpellier (1888-1889). Paris: A. Fontemoing.
Le Bon, Gustave. 1881. L’homme et les sociétés. Leurs origines et leur histoire. Paris: J. Rothschild.
Le Bon, Gustave. 1898. Psychologie du socialisme. Paris: Félix Alcan.
Lewontin, R. C. 1970. « The units of selection ». Annual Reviews of Ecology and Systematics 1: 1-18.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1995. La nature. Notes. Cours du Collège de France. Paris: Editions du
Seuil.
Mayr, Ernst. 1959. « Darwin and the evolutionary theory in biology ». In Evolution and
anthropology: A centennial appraisal, B. J. Meggers (éd.), 1-10, Washington, DC: The
Anthropological Society of Washington.
Mayr, Ernst. 2002. What evolution is. London: Phoenix.
Stamos, David N. 1996. « Was Darwin really a species nominalist ? ». Journal of the History of
Biology 29 (1): 127-144.
Stamos, David N. 2013. « Darwin’s species concept revisited ». In The species problem –
ongoing issues, I. Ya. Pavlinov (éd.), 251-280, Rijeka: InTech.
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Frăguţa Zaharia
Frăguţa ZAHARIA *
Le « néant » heidéggerien dans l’interprétation
d’un étudiant roumain du philosophe allemand
Abstract: The interest of Costantin Micu Stavila in phenomenology dates back to
the years when he was the student of Hans-Georg Gadamer and Martin
Heidegger1. A manuscript of 1964 with the provisional title “Mondanity and
Temporality” has caught our attention and, in the process of restitution of the
phenomenological contribution of the Romanian philosopher, we are convinced
that mentioning the main ideas found there would justify the claim to consider the
analysis of Micu Stavila as a phenomenological approach. On the other hand, by
synthesizing the more than 200 pages of the manuscript, the essential is reduced to
Heidegger’s carefully argued objections to the theme of nothingness and
temporality, followed by an ample, interesting and inspiring analysis of these two
major issues, referring to important Romanian authors concerned about these
problems – Dimitrie Cantemir and Miron Costin, Mihai Eminescu and Alexandru
Philippide, Vasile Cârlova and Bolintineanu – but also: Plotin, Goethe (Faust),
Henri Bergson, Ramiro Ortiz, Gabriel Marcel, Paul Ricœur. To the world and to
the consciousness “profaned” by nothingness – considers the author of Romanian
origin – we must substitute the world and the fully real consciousness, starting
from the very observation of Heidegger that the three Kantian interrogations have
something in common (what can I know?, what can I do? and what am I allowed
to hope?, encompassed in the unity of the fourth: What is man?), namely, that they
bring into play a power, a duty and a hope of human reason. By postulating the act
and the possible as a theme, he observes that phenomenology makes the
being exhausted in the phenomenon, the act losing itself in the possible. The
phenomenon and the thing in itself, we must move them from the gnoseological
level to the existential level and translate them by accident and substance, creature
and creator, finite and infinite. Apart from God – says Constantin Micu Stavila –
every being is haunted and limited by nothingness.
Keywords: nothingness, temporality, human being, mundane, freedom
Constantin Micu Stavila introduit et décrit le concept de mondain qui vient
remplacer celui de homme du monde, associé à l’idée de tout ce qui pourrait
être de moins authentique et personnel, de plus frivole, vain et illusoire que
dans l’existence humaine, avec l’image des individus qui se fuissent euxmêmes, « horde de déserteurs de leur propre personne spirituelle à la
recherche des satisfactions et des certitudes des plus ridicules et puériles ».
*
221
Le « néant » heidéggerien dans l’interprétation d’un étudiant roumain du philosophe allemand
(Micu Stavila, 5). Le philosophe roumain arrive à la conclusion que la notion
de mondanité, dans le sens de être au monde, est la plus autorisée de traduire
l’état d’esprit de l’homme égare dans le monde, mais qui trouve ici « la
satisfaction des ses aspirations les plus intimes et sa raison ultime d’être »
(Micu Stavila, 7). Mais, à la différence de Heidegger, il ne considère pas
comme nécessaire de démontrer qu’il existe une expérience du monde, mais
il met l’accent sur la nécessité d’imaginer la vie non de manière naïve et
confuse, mais comme dépassement et transcendance, comme évasion du
monde et recherche ou récupération du soi, avec la certitude non d’être
considéré comme membre ou partie du monde visible et corporel où nous
vivons, mais d’être homme ou un être conscient de soi et apte de liberté
intérieure, d’un parcours spirituel fondé sur l’infinie autonomie de l’esprit
par rapport au monde. Il y a donc un sujet, le sujet existentiel de l’action qui
est plus qu’un simple phénomène ou un résultat de la masse totale des
représentations et qui se conduit en sujet libre, en origine pure, cause
spontanée et intentionnalité autonome. Un pareil sujet, situé au-delà de la
division sujet-objet du savoir logique, met à la place de la scission le rapport
véritablement existentiel et concret Je – Tu, rapport de la foi, de
l’engagement, de la fidélité.
L’auteur de Sein und Zeit, objecte-t-il Micu Stavila, en intercalant le néant
au-delà de l’existant, dans la question même de l’être, et en appelant cela un
pas aux conséquences fécondes, a la naïveté de croire qu’on ne saurait rapporter le
problème du néant qu’à l’annihilation de l’existence. C’est pour cela qu’il
refuse la possibilité de celui-ci dans le cadre du christianisme qui institue
Dieu comme éternel et pour lequel le rapport avec le monde et celui d’un
existant à l’autre. En accord avec l’affirmation de Jean Wahl, Stavila soutient
que le néant n’est qu’une pseudo-idée, en approuvant Bergson jusqu’au
point où celui-ci (Bergson) considère que c’est précisément la négation du
néant qui l’affirme. Constantin Micu Stavila dénonce l’intérêt que manifeste
la pensée philosophique contemporaine pour le thème du néant, à savoir: en
s’efforçant de capter la plus évanescente et protéique des idées, au lieu de
contribuer à révéler la vérité et éliminer toute contradiction, celle-ci arrive à
introduire dans le temple de la réflexion une nouvelle idole, une nouvelle
chimère. L’erreur principale consiste en cela que, loin de procéder à la
réhabilitation absolue de l’idée de néant, on tend de l’hypostasier et de la
promouvoir au rand d’idée suprême de la réflexion humaine, clef de voûte
de l’existence entière. Autrement dit, on essaie ni plus ni moins d’absolutiser
l’idée de néant; à une période de négation – grave erreur de la philosophie
antique – succède une autre d’affirmation absolue de la valeur de celle-ci.
Deux exagérations parfaitement symétrique de côté et d’autre de la
diagonale qui unit ou qui sépare le néant et l’existence et qui voudrait
résoudre dans un sens logique et simplificateur les paradoxes découlant de
la confrontation des deux termes essentiels de la réflexion humaine2. Si
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Frăguţa Zaharia
Bergson dégrade le néant jusqu’au rang de pseudo-idée, la position de
Heidegger est peut-être la plus radicale, pour lui le néant est le fonds ultime
et le tissu unique de l’existence humaine, d’où son profond pessimisme. En
fait, l’absolutisation la plus radicale du non-existant se réalise dans la
projection extatique dans l’avenir, qui – selon Micu Stavila – n’est point un
saut vertigineux dans le vide, une course à la mort, une possibilité qui
s’annule sans cesse, mais une possibilité qui se complète, qui s’unifie,
s’accomplit et se concentre dans un acte significatif, dans une suprême
synthèse du possible et de l’impossible, dans un destin ou une vocation, une
vocation unique, la même tout au long des avatars, des processus et des
métamorphoses du temps.
L’idée de destin et de sens de la vie – grâce à laquelle le possible ou
l’avenir pur passe de la temporalité linéaire et successive du temps
pragmatique spatialisé ou inauthentique, asservi à un but temporaire, dans
l’unité intérieure du temps métaphysique, synthèse de l’éphémère et de
l’éternel – est complètement étrangère à Heidegger. D’où son incapacité de
dépasser tant l’idée du temps comme temporalisation quand la jonction se
produit entre le passé et le futur, que celle du néant comme annihilation,
incapacité qu’il partage, en vertu de la même incompréhension de la valeur
supratemporelle du temps, avec Jean Paul Sartre. La vision de Kierkegaard
sur le temps comme avancée permanente, comme rotation autour d’un
point fixe, qui donne l’impression d’un éternel retour vers un premier
commencement éminent ou significatif reste bien plus heureuse et valide.
Le moment où l’on décide quelque chose de vraiment important pour notre
vie – affirme le Danois – c’est quand le temps rencontre l’éternité, à la
différence du moment heideggerien où la jonction du passé, de l’avenir et
du présent se passe sous le signe adéquat aux éléments du possible.
Constantin Micu Stavila considère pourtant qu’il est évident que la
temporalité dans laquelle le philosophe allemand conçoit l’existence
comme existence vers la mort ne signifie nullement dissolution, finitude et
néantisation absolue. L’analyse phénoménologique du temps chez Heidegger
est inférieure à celle réalisée par Bergson, qui a découvert son implication et
sa préfiguration empirique de l’éternel sous la forme concrète de la durée.
Pour entendre la fausseté de la thèse du néant illimité qui usurpe la place de
l’être absolu tel que proposé par Heidegger, Micu Stavila prend pour point
de départ l’expérience même et la description concrète de celui-ci (du néant)
dans l’œuvre du philosophe allemand, ainsi que de la manière dont on le
définit. En nous arrêtant, pour éclaircir les choses, sur ce dernier aspect,
nous constatons que, lorsque Heidegger offre une définition précise dans le
Post-Scriptum de son étude « Was ist Metaphysik », il identifie le néant à l’être
absolu, en affirmant que les deux constituent cet absolu-là indéterminable
qui ne peut être quelque chose et qui ne se concrétise pas de façon
définitive en aucune existence particulière déterminée. Une fois établie cette
223
identité des termes, il « passe à leur identité réelle fondée » (Wahl 1954,
106), bien sûr, sur la présupposition tacite qu’il est impossible que deux
choses distinctes existent qui aient une seule et même propriété. Mais
l’identité n’est qu’apparente, et valide seulement dans la perspective de la
logique formelle, car le néant ne peut pas être pareil à l’être seulement dans
la mesure où il refuse toute image et tout nom. Si le néant est vraiment ce
quelque chose qu’on ne saurait jamais préciser, épuiser et contenir de
manière définitive et intégrale dans une situation particulière, ce n’est pas le
cas aussi pour l’être en soi, qui, bien qu’on ne puisse le concevoir ni le voir
dans une existence entièrement réalisée comme structure et particularité
individuelle, il ne cesse jamais s’imposer à notre réflexion dès qu’on essaie
de le penser véritablement, en lui-même, sans faire appel aux concepts
empiriques. Il s’offre donc à nous comme positivité absolue, comme la
particularité la plus personnelle, unique et incomparable que possible,
comme l’acte le plus complètement réel et identique avec soi, le plus
authentique, le plus vif, le plus certain et le moins problématique. Loin de
confondre l’être pur et le néant pur. Ils sont tout ce qui pourrait être de plus
contraire, et leur indétermination et non-particularisation est d’ordre tout
différent. La première est une profonde indétermination du réel, qui
échappe à toute tentative de détermination de la part de la réflexion par
excès d’être, par une particularisation qui est sans pareil et sans
comparaison, au-delà de toute répétition, variation ou similarité ; la seconde
est du réel, du fugitif, du chimérique, de l’oscillant, de ce qui pourrait être
sans être vraiment. L’une dérive de trop d’efficience et de pouvoir, l’autre de
trop peu. La première est l’indétermination de celui-là qui existe de manière
spontanée, sans cause, sans condition, sans tourments, sans effort, sans
début et sans fin, sans origine et sans projet, véritable causa sui, véritable
infini, effectivement accompli. La seconde est l’indétermination de celui-là
qui existe en fonction de quelque chose d’autre, d’une condition qui lui
extérieure, et non intérieure et qui, en tant qu’altérité et pure velléité, se
trouve dans un état d’attente permanente d’être, mais jamais entièrement
réalisé dans l’acte.
A partir de l’expérience concrète du néant décrite dans l’œuvre de
Heidegger, Constantin Micu Stavila constate qu’à l’origine de l’intuition du
néant se trouve l’intuition fondamentale sur la finitude de l’existence
humaine, considérée dans toute pratique et épreuve de vie comme existence
déficitaire, précaire, soumise à la mort, au souci, à la tristesse, à l’ennui et à
l’angoisse. Sans doute, il y a aussi des situations privilégiées où, plus que par
d’autres états existentiels concrets et, bien sûr, plus que par tout concept et
idée générale, on révèle le mystère profond de la vie. A la suite de l’examen
minutieux auquel Heidegger, dans les traces de Kierkegaard, a soumis
l’expérience de la mort, du souci, de l’ennui et de l’angoisse et si l’on suit le
désespoir et la tristesse d’être auxquels nous livre la découverte du caractère
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Frăguţa Zaharia
problématique et contingent de l’existence dans la lumière des situations
cruciales de la vie, il est évident que l’élément commun de toute forte
émotion et secousse intérieure qui nous révèlent le caractère de précarité et
d’inconsistance radicale de l’existence n’est autre que le néant, comme
quelque chose d’extrême.
On sait que l’intérêt que Heidegger manifestait précisément pour les états
les plus subjectifs, énumérés ci-dessus, afin de découvrir l’essence profonde
de la réalité, dérive de la conviction même tout sentiment, et, en particulier,
celui de la mort et de l’angoisse, a l’avantage de ne pas être un état
superficiel et fugitif de notre conscience. « Plus son angoisse sera profonde,
plus l’homme sera humain ». « Le remède pour l’angoisse, c’est l’angoisse »
(Heidegger 1941, 168). Mais, cette chose-là avec laquelle l’angoisse nous met
en contact, ce n’est pas le néant comme pure indétermination, mais une
réalité extrême. Une décision. C’est pour cela que l’angoisse nous singularise
en nous construit en tant qu’individus. L’angoisse est la conscience de la
liberté, elle nous montre tout ce qu’il nous faut pour pouvoir prendre une
décision, et que notre décision, elle n’est pas quelque chose d’indifférent,
mais quelque chose dont nous sommes responsables. Plus important que
l’arbitraire, c’est la responsabilité. La liberté dans la lumière du manque de
justification et de la profonde responsabilité. La répulsion envers l’angoisse,
la lutte contre – dans la tentative de dissimuler à l’aide de fausses solutions
apaisantes – la certitude de sa présence au fondement de l’être ne diminuent
pas, à l’avis de Heidegger, le perpétuel état d’inquiétude que nous
ressentons, tout comme chez Pascal le divertissement et la paix morale
relative qui en dérive ne diminuent pas, au contraire, ils amplifient et ils
révèlent davantage le malheur profond auquel nous sommes la proie, et la
fuite désespérée de soi-même par la distraction n’est que le moyen de
découvrir, dans la solitude, la sinistre nullité de notre être. Outre tous les cas
multiples et multipliables d’ennui envers une chose, une personne, etc., on a
le plus bizarre et pénible sentiment de dégoût et de satiété par rapport à soimême, quand tout, absolument tout devient complètement vide, sans valeur
et dépourvu de sens. C’est le spleen baudelairien, ce taedium vitae
contaminant toute source de vie et auquel tout individu peut devenir
d’autant plus vulnérable qu’il est capable de réflexion et d’intériorisation, et
dont la touche maudite, on ne peut la combattre qu’avec d’incroyables
efforts. Il n’existe pas d’être humain qui n’ait pas ressenti ce sentiment de
dégoût, que tout est inutile, et qui ne se soit pas reconnu dans le profond, le
déchirant cri de désespoir de l’Ecclésiaste au moment où lui se révèle la
vanité de l’existence entière, dans ce cri-là du Rédempteur Lui-même –
quand Il reste dans une solitude intérieure infinie au jardin de Gethsémani
et Il découvre le vide profond autour de Lui – qui a ébranlé les millénaires
du monde chrétien: Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, pourquoi m’as-tu abandonné? Il est vrai,
si tout être doué de conscience de soi ne découvrait pas que son existence
225
est fondée sur le néant, sous la forme du risque ou de la possibilité de
s’anéantir par la mort, il ne vivrait jamais l’expérience de l’angoisse et il
planerait dans un état de paix et de bonheur édéniques. Le néant est « la
grande épine dans la chair de l’existence » (Micu Stavila, 59), à cause duquel
est sans cesse menacée de se trouver au bord de l’abîme. Le néant, comme
terrible possibilité du non-être est le trou obscur vers et dans lequel l’être se
sent toujours en danger de tomber, et face auquel il n’entrevoit pas d’autre
défense que celle d’une liberté qui semble, quand même, plutôt le précipiter
que lui freiner ce mouvement qui lui est fatal. Enfin, « c’est le néant qui
persiste comme une ombre, comme un brouillard enveloppant l’être et qui
est prêt à s’emparer de notre personne entière justement quand nous
restons (complètement) seuls avec nous-mêmes et quand nous devrions être
plus justement authentiques, plus entièrement réels que jamais, protégés
contre tout souci et toute angoisse, justement quand il nous arrive de ne
plus nous préoccuper de rien d’extérieur et d’étranger, quand, puisqu’une
sorte de vide intérieur de notre attention à la vie, un sentiment devrait nous
envahir de paix et de calme absolu, nous nous trouvons envahis par une
pénible impression d’inanité et de vide, d’inutilité et de tristesse ou d’ennui
profond, qui n’est que l’un des visages plus sensibles et plus palpables du
néant » (Micu Stavila, 61).
Quand il analyse l’ennui, comme manière privilégiée d’expression du
néant, Heiddeger n’oublie pas de préciser que cet état ne saurait nous
exaspérer et nous troubler jusqu’au plus profond de notre être et nous
confronter au néant s’il n’était, tout comme l’angoisse, un état constant de
notre être. La répulsion que nous ressentons envers l’angoisse et notre
façon de la combattre en essayant de nous la cacher par toute sorte de
solutions apaisantes, l’immense certitude de sa présence au fondement de
notre être ne diminue pas, selon Heidegger, l’état de permanente angoisse
qui nous domine, mais, tout comme chez Pascal, la quête de la paix
intensifie et révèle davantage le profond désordre et le malheur auquel nous
sommes en proie. Nous nous fuyons alors nous-mêmes, en considérant le
divertissement comme la solution pour éviter le risque de découvrir la
sinistre nullité de notre être, le vide, le manque de valeur et de sens de
l’existence entière. C’est le moment où, plus que de te sentir étranger et exilé
dans un monde qui n’est pas le tien, tu cherches et tu as la certitude de ne
trouver rien, ni à l’extérieur ni à l’intérieur de ton être, capable de te guérir.
Les vers écrits par Alexandru Philippide reflètent parfaitement cet état:
« M’am săturat de mine până-n gât / Privesc în suflet, casc şi mi-i urât. /
Mă plimb prin mine ca un exilat / Şi mă cutreier iar în lung şi-n lat. / Şi caut
iar şi caut iar şi ştiu / Ca nimeni nu-i şi fluer a pustiu.» [« J’en ai assez de
moi-même / Je regards dans mon âme, je bâille et je m’embête. / Je me
promène en moi-même comme un proscrit / Et je vais et je viens de long
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Frăguţa Zaharia
en large. / Et je cherche, je cherche, mais je sais / Qu’il n’y a personne et
alors j’accepte, amèrement, ma solitude »] (Philippide 1922, 128).
Le moment d’une tristesse vaste comme la steppe, d’un désespoir encore
plus radical, quand, proie à « l’invisible maladie (de l’ennui) qui tient
simultanément de l’être et du non-être » (Jankelevitch 1938, 126), ou
voudrait que tout s’effondre dans un infini abîme, car « C’est un rêve du
non-être, cet univers chimérique »3, quand le temps, er raréfiant et en
pulvérisant au maximum sa consistance et son unité – moment d’angoisse
extrême – perd sa valeur temporelle, se spatialise et menace de se déchirer,
et quand, puisque « rien » n’arrive plus, « sur l’étendue désertée », « tout est
silence », « tout retombe » « dans la nuit du non-être comme une ombre
dans le noir » [« Le temps alors s’allonge et devient éternité / Car plus rien
de rien n’arrive sur l’étendue désertée »4]. Le néant se révèle donc à nous
d’un coup, immédiatement après que nous sommes entrés dans son bizarre
royaume comme une permanente menace à l’adresse de l’existence et,
puisqu’il ne se limite pas à être un accident, un moment épisodique dans
l’évolution de l’être, il nous apparaît comme le nœud gordien, le point
central autour duquel se voit concentré le mystère entier de l’existence. Afin
de rendre uniquement réel le monde visible à nous, il continue d’ébranler,
par l’intermédiaire de notre esprit, l’échafaudage de la réalité du monde
donné, en le faisant apparaître comme ce qu’il est: un monde
problématique, un monde annihilé, qui pourrait tout aussi bien être et n’être
pas, qui a commencé à exister par accident, sans nulle raison ou nécessité et
qui aurait pu rester pour toujours perdue dans le néant, à côté d’autres
millions de mondes possibles mais irréalisées, indignes tant de naître que
d’être soumis à l’anéantissement par le temps et par la mort. Tout vient
nous consolider l’impression, dès le premier examen de l’idée de néant, que
Heidegger met à la base non seulement de toute sa méditation, mais de la
réflexion philosophique de toutes les époques, conformément à laquelle
« Le néant est la négation radicale de la totalité de l’existant ou du nonexistant tout simplement » (Heidegger 1938, 26). « C’est uniquement parce
que le rien est manifeste – affirme le philosophe allemand – au fond de
l’être-là que peut venir sur nous la pleine étrangeté de l’étant. Ce n’est que si
l’étrangeté de l’étant nous presse que celui-ci éveille et appelle à soi
l’étonnement. Ce n’est que sur le fond de l’étonnement – c’est-à-dire de la
manifestation du rien – que surgit le “pourquoi”. Ce n’est que parce que le
pourquoi comme tel est possible que nous pouvons d’une manière
déterminée, questionner sur les raisons et fonder en raison. Ce n’est que
parce que nous pouvons questionner et fonder en raison que le destin du
chercheur est remis à notre existence » (Heidegger 1938, 42). En conclusion,
c’est la menace du néant qui garde l’esprit éveillé, en l’empêchant de
s’abîmer dans le sommeil de l’inconscience. C’est de son existence que
dérive notre possibilité même de penser, mais aussi toutes les énigmes,
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toutes les interrogations et, notamment, l’interrogation angoissante et
terrifiante d’où elles naissent: Pourquoi y-a-t-il quelque chose plutôt que rien?, le
même rien qui, selon l’affirmation de Leibniz, supprime à jamais une infinité
de mondes possibles.
Avait-il raison Heidegger quand il énonçait la domination absolue du
néant ? Constantin Micu Stavila affirme le caractère faux de la description et
de l’absolutisation du néant par Heidegger: l’identification totale de l’idée de
néant à celle d’existence en général et l’hypostasation de la première au rang
d’idée majeure pour l’existence entière est vicieuse et contestable. En
revanche, le seul aspect positif de l’œuvre de celui-ci consisterait en une
préalable et tout générale prise de contact avec l’idée de néant. Puisque,
poursuit le penseur roumain, ce qu’on découvre en problématisant la totalité
de l’existant par l’analyse de l’idée de rien, ce n’est pas seulement la fragilité
et la caducité de l’existence, mais aussi sa coexistence et sa positivité,
possible par rapport à l’idée de liberté. Si l’on ne considère que le néant, on
assiste à son pathétique tourment et à son impuissance de s’intégrer dans
une structure durable et unitaire, tandis que la liberté nous révèle sa faculté
de résonner afin d’atteindre et d’incarner une telle structure, en la faisant
culminer par le miracle d’unité et de perfection intérieure de la vie
personnelle. Pour autrement dire, ce qu’on découvre à travers l’expérience
de l’angoisse, de l’ennui, ce n’est pas seulement le néant, mais aussi bien
l’être absolu ou Dieu. Il y a quelque chose au-delà du néant, plus
précisément, au cœur même du néant, quelque chose qui le surpasse, tout
comme au-delà du temps et de son historicité, son inconsistance et son
éphémère, il y a quelque chose grâce auquel le temps cesse d’être pure
dissolution, usure et il rencontre la consistance et l’intégrité de l’être
véritable, de la même manière dont ce silence qui apparaîtrait comme
l’annulation de la parole ne fait que couronner cela encore plus pleinement
et plus éloquemment que le ferait la parole par elle-même. L’exercice
légitime de la capacité d’anéantissement du néant n’implique pas la ruine de
l’idée d’être, et l’attribution de la fonction supérieure de nous sauver de la
médiocrité de l’existence montre clairement que cela est impossible en
l’absence de la capacité de l’existence de pouvoir lui limiter la prétention à la
souveraineté absolue, en transformant tout ce qui nous apparaît de plus
obscur et générateur d’imperfection, de confusion, de limitation, d’échec, de
chaos et de multiplicité dans la constitution de l’existant en une heureuse
occasion de certitude et de triomphe de l’esprit sur ses propres égarements
et faiblesses. Elle tient de la nature même de l’existant, la possibilité de
s’annihiler – et en aucun cas de saper les fondements de toute position et
affirmation absolue – non en vertu d’un antagonisme extérieur avec un
pouvoir de contradiction ou de pure négativité, mais en vertu de sa
propre impuissance de réaliser des valeurs et des structures certaines et
indissolubles et de sortir de la sphère de l’inquiétude, du souci, de
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Frăguţa Zaharia
l’éphémère, de l’usure, bref, la sphère du mensonge et de la mauvaise foi. Le
problème du néant ne se pose plus – constate Micu Stavila – sur le terrain
logique ou ontologique, mais spirituel, comme question qui dépendrait du
pouvoir de l’homme, de son assentiment ou de son refus. Autrement dit, il
n’agit plus de la possibilité ou de l’impossibilité de penser le néant, ni du
dilemme si l’idée de néant a ou non un sens et un contenu réels, mais la
question est: peut-on vaincre l’omnipotence du néant et l’expulser de la
constitution même de l’existence où elle trouve son véritable siège et abri.
Le néant, souligne l’auteur roumain, ne découle pas de l’idée de négation,
mais c’est juste à l’inverse, par conséquent, « le néant n’est pas l’étant plus sa
négation mais ce à partir de quoi il s’avère que la négation comme l’étant
doivent leur avènement à plus originaire qu’eux » (Heidegger 1938, 40).
Considérations finales
En guise de conclusion, nous allons souligner la présentation de l’étroit
rapport entre la liberté et le néant, dans le cadre de laquelle Constantin Micu
Stavila révèle les aspects que revêt la question du néant dans la pensée
philosophique roumaine, qu’il considère comme plus sensible et plus
réceptive au mystère de cette notion, mais aussi préoccupée par la question
de la liberté. La liberté, la seule qui engage notre responsabilité et notre
culpabilité, le destin et la valeur de l’existence entière et qui met en jeu le
sens et la valeur de la vie personnelle, garde éveillée pour toujours la
conscience tragique même de l’existence. Après un périple dans la pensée de
Platon, Plotin, Pascal, Kant, Goethe, Kierkegaard, Unamuno, Gabriel
Marcel, Ramiro Ortiz, on arrive à celle de Dimitrie Cantemir, illustrée dans
Le Divan ou La Dispute du Sage avec le Monde ou Le Jugement de l’Ame avec le corps
(Publié à Iaşi, en 1698, en roumain et en grec). En réunissant en sa personne
tous les attributs de la vie et tous les contrastes – ambitieux et blasé, homme
du monde et ascète de bibliothèque, audacieux et timide, manipulateur et
misanthrope, aimant bien sa Moldavie, ensuite aventurier, « académicien
berlinois, prince moscovite et chroniqueur moldave » (…)” (Călinescu 2001,
33), mais aussi doué d’un exceptionnel pouvoir d’intuition et de réflexion, il
n’est point étonnant qu’on rencontre dans son œuvre l’image complète des
dangers d’échouer, de s’anéantir, troublante description des extrêmes et des
misères de l’existence auxquelles l’esprit peut être soumis quand il vient en
contact avec les limites, l’empire et l’abîme de l’inanité. Le chroniqueur a
observé avec plus de profondeur et devançant d’un siècle et demi la
parution de la seconde partie de Faust, en quoi consiste-t-elle toute la
fascination, la duplicité et l’irrémédiable inconsistance du néant pour celui-là
possédant un pouvoir tel que la liberté de choisir et de décider. Cantemir
pénètre l’essence même de la vérité de l’interprétation chrétienne5 du néant,
non comme néant absolu, mais comme état « d’inanité, de néantisation et de
229
simple virtualité, de tourment et d’espoir vain, désert d’être de l’existant
extradivin, vidé ou absent comme monde ou comme existence, comme
déficience et inconsistance amère et larvaire universelle » (Micu Stavila, 96).
Un instinct secret de la véritable existence, sur lequel il fonde fermement
toute son argumentation lui induit la conviction que toute existence autre
que celle du Sage assoiffé de Dieu, qui affronte de ses faibles pouvoirs le
Monde dans sa totalité, est une existence inauthentique, accablée et viciée
par le néant. C’est quoi, le néant, chez ce lucide découvreur et adversaire
énergique? Plutôt qu’un simple vide ou rien, qu’une absolue absence de
l’existence, il est une réalité concrète et réelle, convertible de manière
insaisissable en une disposition, un état ou une fausse direction d’être. En
d’autres mots, une tendance libre ou une orientation active et de
prédilection vers un état permanent d’agitation et d’instabilité, fange et
décrépitude du non-être. Malgré tout son pouvoir de négation et
d’autodestruction, d’incessante déficience, la misère du néant vient du fait
de ne pouvoir jamais s’anéantir complètement, de n’aboutir jamais à une
annihilation totale, toujours suspendu dans un état de tourment et de vaine
angoisse exprimée par le terme d’inanité. D’où son immense risque et sa
gravité. La manière dont le prince moldave caractérise le concept de néant
sous son aspect le plus tangible, le plus palpable et plus expérimental
comme inanité et vanité de l’existence se singularise par une interprétation
tout nouvelle par rapport au thème commun de l’instabilité et de l’éphémère
des choses humaines qui l’illustrait. Tandis que Miron Costin dans son
poème Viaţa lumii [La vie du monde] ne conçoit aucune possibilité de s’évader
de sous l’empire du temps et de l’éphémère – „Fug vremile ca umbra şi nici
o poartă/A le opri nu poate” [« Le temps fuit comme une ombre et aucune
porte / Ne saurait les arrêter » ] (Costin, vers 8-9) – en formulant même la
présupposition que c’est Dieu Lui-même qui entretient, selon une secrète
décision, le spectacle de l’instabilité universelle – „Că Dumnezeu a vârstat
toate cu sorocul,/A poruncit la un loc să nu stea norocul” [« Dieu a tout mis
sous le signe de l’échéance / Il a commandé que la chance se diffuse »]
(Costin, vers 81-82), et Dimitrie Bolintineanu dans Conrad soutient l’idée
que la domination du mal universel n’est pas absolue, parce qu’elle se détruit
elle-même, sans pourtant observer qu’un mal remplaçant l’autre et la
position de spectateur devant l’inutilité du pouvoir terrestre ne saurait être
un salut réel et l’exercice le plus adéquat de la liberté humaine. Ce n’est pas
le cas pour Cantemir. Celui-ci entrevoit en quoi consiste l’origine et le
pouvoir secret du néant et, notamment, comment l’éviter. Il déclare la
guerre au monde et à sa vanité dominatrice, à la fois il détient le secret de
triompher sur la dernière et de faire la paix avec le premier, mais il peut
également rester en face du néant sans être fasciné, accablé par celui-ci et
sans tomber dans le nihilisme absolu. L’auteur du Divan ne se limite pas au
masque initial et le plus évident du néant – théâtre du devenir et de
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Frăguţa Zaharia
l’instabilité, de la destruction et de l’inutilité, de la vanité du monde –, mais il
va plus loin pour déchiffrer le mystère de celui-ci, en montrant que le
changement et la mort, malgré toute l’horreur qu’ils inspirent au Sage, n’ont
quelque chose de fatal, mais ils sont le résultat d’un choix, d’une préférence
et d’un libre consentement du monde à l’acte d’anéantissement. Si la mort et
le néant existent, c’est parce qu’il y a quelqu’un qui produise leur matière
comme principe d’illusion, d’erreur, de tromperie, et pourtant principe réel
capable de choix et de détermination libre. Autrement dit, il existe
quelqu’un qui préfère et qui choisisse le néant, selon la juste affirmation de
Jean-Paul Sartre, en précisant que le néant présuppose un agent actif et libre
qui le crée. En conclusion, la liberté comme affirmation ou choix de soi –
dans la lumière de la valeur infinie de l’homme comme créature divine –
n’est plus possible par ses propres forces. Puisque la créature est corrompue
par le péché, il faut que la liberté, pour être salvatrice, soit instance ou
convertible à Dieu par la bonté divine elle-même. Si Dieu ne daigne pas
nous réconcilier avec Lui, nous ne sommes plus capables de Le retrouver…
Notes
Voir la lettre de recommandation que l’académicien français Pierre Emmanuel adressait
au professeur Burkhardt (Paris, le 19 juillet 1969).
2 Selon Aristote, Metafizica II, traduction par Ştefan Bezdechi, Editura Academiei, Bucureşti,
1965, pp. 594-595, la rigoureuse opération faite par Héraclite d’Éphèse qui avait proclamé
la possibilité ontologique de la simultanéité des contraires ou l’identité totale de l’existence
et de la non-existence, en affirmant qu’une seule et même chose peut à la fois être et ne pas
être, laisse ouverte la voie de la présupposition que le non-existant a une valeur égale et
aussi absolue que l’existant. Ce qui attire la réplique, aussi ferme, de Parménide, qui exclut
du sein de l’existence, comme absurde et inconcevable, toute variation, mouvement et
devenir.
3 M. Eminescu, Épître I, version française par Veturia Draganescu-Vericeanu, disponible sur
http://jeanloup.roland.free.fr/poesies1.html#Poeme9.
4 Ibidem.
5 Dans l’esprit du christianisme, le véritable drame du néant consiste en son incapacité de
contenir et d’accomplir l’être, en non en sa possibilité jamais réelle et définitive de l’anéantir
et de la détruire, telle qu’indiquée dans le passage du prologue à l’Évangile selon Jean, où le
niveau le plus profond, le plus obscur de misère que la créature peut atteindre consiste à
figurer dans un état de négativité et d’ombre, à l’antipode et à la périphérie de l’être
véritable.
1
Bibliographie
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Bolintineanu, Dimitrie. http://www.poeziile.com/autori/DimitrieBolintineanu/conrad.php
[20.10.2016]
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(https://tiparituriromanesti.wordpress.com/2014/07/15/dimitrie-cantemirdivanul-sau-galceava-inteleptului-cu-lumea-iasi-1698/ [09. 09. 2016]).
Călinescu, George. 2001. Istoria Literaturii Române. Compendiu. Chişinău: Litera.
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(https://ro.wikisource.org/wiki/Scrisoarea_I [09.09. 2016]).
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Editura de Stat pentru Literatură şi Artă – E.S.P.L.A.
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232
Camelia Grădinaru
Camelia GRĂDINARU *
Memory, Interpretation and Connectedness:
The Imagined Part of Virtual Communities
Abstract: This article focuses on the contemporary sociability built in the
technological texture of everyday life. The virtual communities re-opened a large
debate about human solidarity, collective identity, and sense of belonging. Their
specific characteristics produced multilayered interpretations and polarized
theories. I choose to point out the importance of the very act of interpretation and
to follow the presupposition that the virtual community is, in fact, an imagined
community. The usefulness of this presupposition will be analyzed in this article,
with an emphasis on the role of memory in the imagined part of virtual
togetherness.
Keywords: virtual community, imagined community, interpretation, collective
memory
1. Technology as texture
In contemporary everyday life, the technological benefits are almost taken
for granted, forming a background of presuppositions: we are reliant on
many sets of technologies from the moment we wake up in the morning till
the end of a day. A brief examination of this situation has to conclude that
“technology at least provides a certain texture to the context of daily life”
(Ihde 1983, 10). The texture depth depends on many factors, every person
using a certain technological path, with different levels of bias and needs.
The pervasiveness of technology in our life made its reflection very hard to
accomplish, because “all of this is familiar, even if we do not critically reflect
upon its meaning for human life. And if Heidegger is right, precisely
because it is familiar it is even more difficult to elicit its existential
significance. Such a technological texture to life forms a „life-world‟, and
familiarity itself may be a clue or index for what is taken as „true‟. If humans
always interpret the world and themselves in some dominant way, how do
they do this in the midst of technology?” (Ihde 1983, 11). Human beings
have connections not only with other persons, but also with technologies
and things that offer a kind of intertextual relationships. This technological
environment became an important domain of the philosophical wonder,
involving epistemological, axiological, metaphysical, and methodological
*
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Memory, Interpretation and Connectedness: The Imagined Part of Virtual Communities
interrogations (Ferré1995). Thus, technology provokes questions about
knowledge, values, ethical usage, reality, and human nature. In this respect,
we witness, for instance, an interesting vocabulary that bound the
technology and the philosophy. Also, the dominant metaphors for a given
period of time (such as the metaphor of the machine) are truly significant
for the role of technology not only in the respective society, but also in the
stream of ideas.
New media history has shown how technology issues were converted
towards social, communicational, and cultural themes. The social turn of these
new technologies implied a repositioning of the interpersonal relationships,
of the sense of community, solidarity, identity or power. The case of the
virtual communities is emblematic, intriguing by the possibility of creating
an authentic communitarian sense in the lack of the classic characteristics
of the organic community. Of course, as almost any other subject of
discussion from the inside of new media umbrella, the virtual community
was the trigger for a very polarized opinions and theories. Seen as a
supplement of the offline communities, pseudo-communities, a kind of
community that functions at another level of reality, the concept of virtual
community revived the conversations about the human connectedness in
general. Even if the traditional community was considered the gold standard
of the entire discussion, the online sociability had consequences for the
ways in which we conceptualize the concept of community, indifferent of
its forms. Especially in the effort of distinctions between offline and online
communities an intricate element suddenly appeared: the imagined part of
this virtual social connection. The translation of “imagined community”
notion in the frame of new media studies became shortly an inherent
presupposition of the interpretation of virtual communities. The usefulness
of this presupposition will be analyzed in this article, with a special emphasis
on the role of memory in the imagined part of virtual togetherness. Among
many interpretations, such as metaphor, stereotype, functional element, the
role of the imaginary may fill a missing part in the complex perspective on
virtual communities.
2. The online imagined sociability
The virtual community challenged the senses of being social, re-opened the
troublesome debates about the concept of community mainly in the fields
of sociology and anthropology. The possibility allowed by new media to
communicate anonymous, with a created identity, with disembodied people
located almost in any place where a connection exists, transformed the
traditional interpretations of community. Just as television, telephone, or
telegraph have done previously, the new technology of communication
offered new possibilities for communication, reducing the distances and
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Camelia Grădinaru
trying to offer much more choices for the users. For Rheingold, virtual
communities are “social aggregations that emerge from the Net when
enough people carry on those public discussion long enough, with sufficient
human feeling, to form webs of personal relationships in cyberspace” (2000,
xx). They are social forms of organizations made to connect people with the
same ideas, hobbies, or jobs. The level of freedom is higher in online than
in organic groups, the possibility to leave a community or to be a member
in a multitude of them being evident.
Consequently, they were criticized for their fluidity, flexibility, lack of
commitment and responsibility. The pulling out from the in-person ties,
from the traditional communities were seen as alienating factors that disturb
the solid organization of society and erode the social capital (Wellman et al.
2001). This search of effects may enter under the umbrella of the supposed
“killer implication” of virtual communities (Feenberg and Bakardjieva
2004), that seeks to delineate the most important impact for the future, or,
in McLuhan‟s terms, the real message of this new technology. For Feenberg
and Bakardjieva “virtual community has no killer implications. Online
forums stage superficial fun, deeply spiritual experiences, and practically
useful exchanges without discrimination. In defiance of both optimists and
prophets of gloom, they are rarely either uplifting or degrading and much
more often simply amusing, instrumental or inconsequential. They give rise
to specialized relationships, not all-embracing solidarities. They are driven
by fleeting interests, not unconditional commitments. In short, they have
colonized a technical system that is intended for information exchange by
implanting within it a staggering variety of old, hybrid, and brand new
forms of human sociality” (2004, 39). Nevertheless, the communicative
online spaces can support superficial and egoists uses, as well profound and
solidary relationships. In the same vein as Barry Wellman, Manuel Castells
thinks that online communities are not “imitations” of the offline groups
and they have a specific dimension and dynamic. Also, they are
“interpersonal social networks, most of them based on weak ties, highly
diversified and specialized, still able to generate reciprocity and support by
the dynamics of sustained interaction” (Castells 2010, 389).
The theoretical battlefield formed around the interrogation of the reality
and consistency of virtual communities represented one of many points
where another supposition emerged. Thus, the inclusion of the virtual
sociability into the category of imagined communities seemed to have the
power to explain its specificity. In this respect, Benedict Anderson‟s
expression “imagined community” become a very used formula for the
scope of explaining how people that do not know each other or even met at
any time may succeed in building a sense of belonging and a functional
group. If even the traditional communities are imagined (Anderson 1983,
18), containing a level of virtuality and potency, all the more so is the case
235
for the online communities. Moreover, communication media shape the
styles in which communities have been imagined, so the importance of the
style, as Anderson pointed out, is here at work. Anderson‟s remark, that the
optimum criterion is not the falsity/genuineness of the community, but the
style in which it is imagined, is very helpful for the case of virtual
communities. In this way, the endless polarization of discussions is
translated into another frame of interpretation.
The presence of imagination and the constant requirement of
interpretation is observed in many components of the community and in its
theorizations. Thus, the community is a cognitive, affective, social, symbolic
construct that involves in the same time an ideal image and also a special
reality. We witness a duality between experience and interpretation, between
freedom and normativity: “community has a transcendent nature and
cannot simply be equated with particular groups or a place. Nor can it be
reduced to an idea, for ideas do not simply exist outside social relations,
socially-structured discourses or a historical milieu. To invoke the notion of
community is recognize that it is an ideal and is also real; and it is both an
experience and an interpretation” (Delanty 2010, xii). The focus on the
intersection between reality and interpretation is a fruitful point for the
“localization” of the imagined part in the comprehensive view on
community. A community involves very concrete practices and social
relations, but it is also supported by a guiding idea that enables the creation
of the distinctive traits of its recognition. The particular ways of talking,
joking or responding on comments constructs the specific profile of the
community, its intrinsic way of searching for cohesiveness, solidarity, and a
sense of belonging. Also, the recognition from other people that belong to
other groups constitutes an important clue for the statement of its collective
identity.
Anthony Cohen (1985) emphasized that a community is rather a
symbolic structure than a social practice. This constructivist approach
stressed the symbolic nature of communities, seen as a fabric of norms,
values, and behaviors that confers an identity to its members. Thus,
community is a mental construct, their members strongly believing that they
are sharing a similar sense of things, in contradistinction to other people.
For Cohen, as the structures do not produce meaning in themselves, also
the symbols do not create in themselves a meaning. So, “maintaining and
further developing this commonality of symbol” (Cohen 1985, 16) became
an important task for the members of a certain community. The passing
from symbol to meaning is shaped by the force of individual and collective
imaginary. As Gerard Delanty emphasized, “the whole point of Anderson‟s
study was to show that community is shaped by cognitive and symbolic
structures that are not underpinned by „lived‟ spaces and immediate forms
of social intimacy” (Delanty 2010, xii). The transcendence of geographical
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Camelia Grădinaru
boundaries and of classical forms of interpersonal relationships is a main
trait of the virtual community, thus its symbolism and its units of meaning
represent axes of its existence. Despite the fragility of the communicative
bond of the technological-mediated communities, they provide the
possibility of authentic forms of sociability.
The mediation supposes an inherent transformation and interpretation
of the technological embedded situation. Any medium transforms its object
and becomes a part of it; it is not a simulacrum or a representation, but it is
a “variant „world‟” (Ihde 1983, 59). In this respect, the hermeneutic is
required for every mediated situation and so much the more for such a
complex entity as the virtual community. The explanation is simple: “the
media-phenomenon is hermeneutic – it is mediated. Its presence is that
distant presence which needs the adumbration of critical imagination to
„come alive‟” (Ihde 1983, 61). Thus, the imagination is a very present
element in the interpretation, with the role of filling the gaps. In
Silverstone‟s approach (2002), the mediation is technological and social in
the same time, situation that fits with the virtual community structure. Thus,
it has significant consequences for the perspective that we construct on
everyday life and on the “distant other”, creating a hermeneutic framework
of reference. The relationships between individual and social are in the
center of the mediation. Thus, the mediation depicts “the fundamentally,
but unevenly, dialectical process in which institutionalised media of
communication (the press, broadcast radio and television, and increasingly
the world wide web) are involved in the general circulation of symbols in
social life. That circulation no longer requires face to face communication,
though it does not exclude it” (Silverstone 2002, 762). In the same time, the
computer-mediated communication mixes and blurs mediation and
immediacy (Wood and Smith 2005), in a general quest of media immersion.
This combination reveals one deep desire – the transparency of medium –
and, more accurate for digital environment, the “natural” immersion into
the medium.
Where can we find the application of the imagined community
characteristics? In general, the study of nation and of ethnic groups were
the most frequented loci in terms of the research on imagined communities.
Anyhow, the organizational research reclaimed also the pertinence of this
perspective. The economic organizations are, too, historically built and
imagined, and the company‟s rhetoric or brand construction record many
imagined sets of slogans or identitary sets of values (Anteby and Molnar
2012, Jenkins 2008). In the online environment, every community seems to
have an imagined part, and this happens because of several forms of absence
in comparison with the offline environment. In this respect, a virtual
community has been labeled as the “metaimagined community” (Brabazon
2001, 2) or as “the new imagined community” (Fox 2004). Nevertheless,
237
not all the online platforms are designed with the scope of creating and
maintaining a community, but, on the other hand, imagined communities
were created even on these inappropriate “spaces”. Thus, Twitter has been
analyzed as a basis for creating not just an imagined community, but also a
shared sense of community (Gruzd et al. 2011). Twitter‟s imagined
community includes the significant traits extracted from the interpretation
of Anderson‟s work. Twitter participants share a common language, there is
a sense of temporality (“presentism” and not the “homogeneous” time
discussed by Anderson) and the high centers are still present (quite contrary
to Anderson‟s idea of decline of high centers). In this way, “Twitter links
Benedict Anderson‟s concept of imagined communities and Mark
Granovetter‟s concept of „the strength of weak ties‟ (1973). Indeed, Twitter
turns out to be an implementation of the cross-cutting connectivity between
social circles that 19th-century sociologist Emile Durkheim (1893/1993)
argued was the key to modern solidarity” (Gruzd et al. 2011, 1314).
Another surprising platform for the construction of an imagined
community is constituted by the newspaper threads, analyzed from this
perspective by Bryn Alexander Coles and Melanie West (2016). Here, the
role of membership is completely unnecessary, and the same thing applies
to the existence of an account or profile, so the posters can be written
anonymously. Even if there had been no necessary connections and
interactions between the users, the common themes of reflection and
debate nonetheless had the power to coagulate these users into a
community: “even without a formal infrastructure to support the formation
of communities, users of a given online space will seek to join with likeminded individuals to establish an imagined community” (Coles and West
2016, 46). This thematic commonality may transform atomized individuals
into people that belong to a larger group, acting as if they connect to a big
social entity. This assertion resonates with and probably confirms the wellknown Rheingold remark according to which “whenever CMC [computermediated communication] becomes available to the people anywhere, they
inevitably build virtual communities with it, just as microorganisms
inevitably create colonies” (Rheingold 2000, xx). The explanations offered
by Rheingold for this state of affairs are “the hunger for communities”,
which takes place due to the disappearance of the informal public spaces
able to bring people together in offline, and the innovations brought by new
media that give the users the possibility of doing things in new and
provocative ways.
Coles and West (2016, 47) noticed something very interesting, too: even
if the members do not know each other, they have to decide who is a
member of the respective community and who is not. The markers of the
group (linguistic, symbolic, modes of relating, posts) and the shared history
made that group act as a community. In the very act of identifying the
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Camelia Grădinaru
members and the non-members, the presuppositions about what the
identity of the community should be, about the nature of its norms, codes,
values, and practices, or about the interaction among its members are,
evidently, put to work. The representations about these things function
almost every time in terms of guidelines of orientation and interpretation of
that group.
3. Memory and imagined communities
A significant element that bond people together into an online community
is the collective memory. For those communities which have already a
tradition and a history, there is also a dynamic of memory and also a
consistent archive that contains a variety of materials (comments, photos,
videos). The online environment created a “new digital temporality of
memory” (Hoskins 2009, 93), that enables a fluid movement on the
temporal axis. The digital archive that every online community creates
becomes a reference for all the members and also for the people that
read the comments but do not participate as members. The knowledge
incorporated into a community can be compared with a “living
encyclopedia” (Rheingold 2000, 46), a collective repository that is
representative for the identity of the community. In this respect, the
knowledge transfer is a remarkable thing that happens in online, forming
an impressive “gift economy”. In cyberspace, “individuals contribute
knowledge and help others despite the lack of a personal, face-to-face
relationship and the easy alternative of free-riding on the efforts of others”
(Wasko and Faraj 2005, 53).
Andrew Hoskins described a new “emergent digital networked memory –
in that communications in themselves dynamically add to, alter, and erase, a
kind of living archival memory” (2009, 92). “On-the-fly” memory
recognizes the role of mediation and mediatization of our everyday digital
media and its inherent processes of construction and re-construction. Thus,
this new memory is a hybrid one, in the same time public and private, in the
same time actively produced and just recorded, in the same time well stored
and fluid, modifiable and also fixed, because a digital trace will forever
remain in the network. The new media memory is collectively modified and
is also a social glue for the communities, actively sustaining their lives and
identities.
Alison Landsberg (2004) uses the concept of “prosthetic memory” to
indicate the role of media in generating, communicating, and archiving
memory. Thus, “the cinema and other mass cultural technologies have the
capacity to create shared social frameworks for people who inhabit, literally
and figuratively, different social spaces, practices, and beliefs. As a result,
these technologies can structure „imagined communities‟ that are not
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necessarily geographically or nationally bounded and that do not presume
any kind of affinity among community members” (Landsberg 2004, 8). Paul
Frosch (2011) discussed the imagined collective memory in the age of
television, emphasizing two distinct layers. On the one hand, there is a
“ghost effect” of media – the idea of a collective consciousness and
imaginary audience. On the other hand, the memory itself is imagined and
also “performed through the social nucleus; more particularly, that memory is
imagined as a shared audio-visual simulacrum, collected and unfolding a
synchronous „now‟, via a central spatial location that is connected to
everyone” (Frosch 2011, 129). Thus, imagination is conceived as a dual
entity, as invention and representation (Frosch 2011, 123).
Grounded on terms derived from Deleuze and Bergson, Bollmer (2011)
reframed collective memory, arguing against “a model of collective memory
where collectivities emerge through the articulation of individual humans
together through approximations of shared psychic memories. Instead,
collectives are individuals produced through the actualization of memory as
shared embodied movement” (Bollmer 2011, 2). In this explaining model,
memory as movements presupposes aggregations of people and technology.
The communities become communities through memory; a durable
community involving a repetition of memory through rituals. These rituals
can be interpreted also in Anderson‟s terms of community style that fashion
and fix its identity. Activities such as the way of addressing to the other
members, events that repeat every year, different meetings of the members
in the offline may become rituals that construct the community and make
paths for memory.
The internet offered the possibility of generating new forms of
collaborative remembering. In this respect, virtual communities play a key
role, curdling and directing the routes of memory. For instance, Wikipedia
has been interpreted as a “global memory place”, as a “site of memory”
(Ferron, Massa 2014) that allows many acts of remembrance seen as an
imaginative reconstruction of the past. Hurricane Digital Memory Bank and
September 11 Digital Archive are just two other lieux de mémoire, sites of
prosumption that enact commemorative strategies, emotional catharsis, and
therapeutic rhetoric (Recuber 2012).
4. Conclusions
The concept of imagined community went through a large dissemination
since Benedict Anderson wrote his seminal work Imagined Communities:
Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism. The researchers of virtual
communities adopted soon the term and adapted it to the online context.
Thus, this concept functioned as a presupposition of interpretation, the
right idea that could accurately identify and explain the set of online gaps,
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Camelia Grădinaru
such as the lack of face-to-face interaction, the context indeterminacy, the
anonymity, the distance, or the flexibility of interactions. The tension
between the ideal image and the concrete experiences constructed by the
sets of unknown people conceived as similar is underlying the imagined part
of virtual community. The members‟ ideas about structure, dynamics of
interactions, and way of communication shape the imagined community.
The easy use of the concept “imagined communities” in the online world
was also criticized, transforming it into a “new intellectual cliché” (Brabazon
2001). In spite of its limitations, this term still offers useful perspectives for
a profound understanding of the virtual togetherness.
References
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Nationalism. London: Verso.
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Management Journal 55 (3): 515–540.
Bollmer, Grant David. 2011. “Virtuality in systems of memory: Toward an ontology of
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the Community Embodiment Model (CEM)”. Journal of Communication Inquiry 28
(1): 47-62.
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Zandberg, 117-131. New York: Palgrave MacMillan.
Gruzd, Anatoliy, Wellman, Barry, and Takhteyev, Yuri. 2011. “Imagining Twitter as an
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Ihde, Don. 1983. Existential Technics. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
Jenkins, R. 2008. Social Identity. New York: Routledge.
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Dana Ţabrea
Dana ŢABREA*
The spectacular world. Translation and
Interpretation in Scarred Hearts by M. Blecher
Abstract: Within the context of the spectacular world that I investigated in M.
Blecher‟s first novel (Occurrences in the Immediate Irreality, 1936), I discuss about
surrealism, oneirism, and realism, about the relationship and at the same time fragile
border between reality and irreality, and also about translation and interpretation in
art by taking into consideration Radu Jude‟s movie and Radu Afrim‟s theatrical
performance, Scarred Hearts. Firstly, the director “translates” the play, by turning it
into his own script that has to tell us a message in the present. Secondly, he
“interprets” it by turning it into the spectacular construct. This is, of course, the
ideal case.
Keywords: Translation, interpretation, irreality, surrealism, oneirism, spectacular
world, Scarred Hearts, M. Blecher, Radu Afrim, Radu Jude
1. Translation, interpretation, and irreality.
Translation versus Interpretation? A book,
a theatrical performance, and a movie: Scarred Hearts
In the first place, my intention was to formulate a strong thesis in terms of
artistic translation versus artistic interpretation by considering the strong
aesthetical opposition between realism and surrealism. Apparently, translation
would refer to the realistic movie while interpretation refers to the
surrealistic theatrical performance. But Radu Jude‟s movie is realistic and at
the same time an interpretation of M. Blecher‟s surrealistic writings (an
abridgement), while Radu Afrim‟s theatrical performance is a magically
realistic interpretation, and at the same time a surrealist translation of M.
Blecher‟s novel Scarred Hearts. I am not sure that such a strong thesis that
opposes, on the one hand, translation to interpretation, and, on the other
hand, realism to surrealism can be sustained because translation and
interpretation do not differ in the same way in which realism and surrealism
do. Furthermore, it is not justifiable to associate translation with realism or
interpretation with surrealism.
If the concept of translation is opposed to the concept of interpretation,
it is only a methodological way of speaking about art, be it a theatrical
performance or a movie, because I do not use the term translation in its most
*
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The spectacular world. Translation and Interpretation in Scarred Hearts by M. Blecher
common and frequent sense, i.e. translating a text from one language to
another. Obviously, it is not the case of M. Blecher as he wrote in
Romanian, and I read his novels in Romanian. Incidentally, Radu Jude had
his script translated, as well as the lines that conclude the key moments of
the film, but it was for the movie to be understood by an international
audience, and I am sure that there is no difference when it comes to
interpreting the movie; even if the lines are in English or in Romanian, there
is no effect whatsoever upon the interpreting of the movie as an aesthetical
product, on the constitutive situations, or on the way the characters are
built. Of course, other cases than translating a text into a work of art could
be considered, such as translating the aesthetical language of the work of art
into words; in this case, the mission of the art critic, unsatisfied with the
aesthetical experience as such, is quite against the collar most of the times.
Moreover, the Greek verb hermeneuein has three meanings: to express, to
explain, and to translate (Palmer 1969, 13). In fact, the hermeneutical
approach and the activity of translating are not at all contradictory: in a
particular sense, to interpret is to translate, and interpretation is not the
opposite of translation. When one translates something (a text, a work of art,
or a reality by converting it into art), which is when one interprets
something, according to the third meaning of the term hermeneuein, there is
an obvious contrast between the universe of that which is to be interpreted
and the universe of the reader, spectator, or interpreter. The spectator as
interpreter and the artist are not in the same boat. The artist (in our case,
the director of the movie or that of the theatrical performance) translates a
reality or a text by converting it into images, sensations, and feelings. Then
the spectator as an interpreter comes along with an interpretation of the
work of art, which reflects the way he/she situates himself/herself within
the interval between the universe of the text and the universe of the artist.
The spectator carries along his/her own cultural presuppositions which may
contribute in one way or another to the receiving of the work of art.
Theatre is a live art which has the advantage of being continuously
changed depending on linguistic, historical, or other kinds of human
presuppositions, while a movie, in the same way as a book or a visual art
piece (such as a painting, a sculpture etc.) remains as such, unchanged once
it is launched for the public or for the big audience. Therefore, translating
from one language to another (interpreting the universe of the work of art)
is more difficult in the case of a theatrical performance than in the case of a
movie. As an exception, we may mention the literal meaning of the
translation (from one language to another), when the translator has to
mediate between the linguistic context of the text and that of the reader.
But, as I have already mentioned, it is not the case to enter into issues of
pure translatology. When it comes to translating or interpreting a work of
art, there are two main instances involved in the process, apart from the
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Dana Ţabrea
creator: the universe of the piece of art and the universe of the spectator or
interpreter. A whole made up of text (words), images, music, special effects,
and emotions reflects a certain way of seeing the world which, by the acts of
watching/seeing/hearing, meets a completely different world – the horizon
of the receiver. Because the spectator does not go tabula rasa to the theatre
or to see a movie, but he/she already has his/her own cultural luggage
which shape his/her way of thinking, of seeing things, and of acting, and at
the same time awakens aesthetical experiences of one kind or another. The
meaning of the show does not reside within the words of the text or the
images as such, but it is arisen within the interval mediating between the
work of art and the spectator.
The scope and objective of the interpretation, including translation, is to
understand a work of art. We fully understand a work of art when our
horizon (our way of conceiving the world of art) meets the horizon of the
work of art itself, and when the work of art starts to speak our language,
and addresses our innermost questions and expectations. Therefore,
abridgements are welcome as long as they transpose the world of the play
into our present world. Some believe there are eternal and universal
playwrights whose texts are sacred and not to be changed by the director.
The director himself/herself is an artist whose main task is to address to the
spectator of his/her times. He/she works against the myths and the idols of
the theatre by an attempt of demythologizing. Along with this line of thought I
would like to mention the way that Palmer defines translation: it is about
bringing “what is strange, unfamiliar, and obscure in its meaning into
something meaningful that „speaks our language‟.” (Palmer 1969, 29). First,
the director translates the play, by turning it into his/her own script that has
to tell us a message in the present, and then he/she interprets it by turning it
into the spectacular construct. This is, of course, the ideal case.
What is irreality? When it comes to irreality, do we translate or do we
interpret? In my opinion, irreality is close to fiction, to art (as long as art is
not a mirroring of reality), and to exacerbated perceptions or emotions.
Irreality cannot be translated. Neither can irreality be interpreted according
to the I-you pattern (the in-between of the two horizons) conferred by the
dialogical model. Irreality cannot but absorb one entirely within the universe
that the author advances. It is the case of M. Blecher‟s first novel (1936),
entitled Întâmplări în irealitatea imediată (I have found two versions of the title
in English, Adventures in Immediate Irreality or Occurrence in Immediate Unreality,
but many other possibilities can be taken into consideration).
The title is very suggestive, controversial and paradoxical at the same
time, as it reunites terms that have to do with happenings/facts/events or
with immediate/unmediated experiences, with the term irreality that has to
do with oneirism, surrealism, and dreamlike experiences. I prefer the term
irreality to unreality because irreality exists as surreality, and it is the true
authentic reality of the narrator, while unreality simply opposes reality, as a
245
negation of it. If we can say that reality is something, unreality cannot be
conceived of being anything else but a logical negation of reality. We cannot
speak of Blecher‟s unreality, because there is nothing to say about that
which is not; instead, Blecher‟s novel is a very detailed description of his
own irreality. The word adventures is a fortunate one as long as we
understand a purely subjective experience, and an emotional redimensioning
of the events and happenings of the narrator‟s life by it. The word occurrence
is extremely fortunate not as much for its meanings as happening, event,
episode, incident, but because of its meaning in the present: something that
happens; it happens to Blecher as the narratorial voice, because it may have
happened to Blecher as a human being and author, but it certainly happens
to the reader.
Usually, we tend to consider that we translate/transpose facts into stories
and that we interpret the respective fictions. In Blecher‟s case, interpretation
represents the subjective recreation of the world (in terms of a feeling of
complete usefulness of the world, like that of a burden, melancholy,
neurosis, cynicism, the absence of any meaning of life, the absence of the
belief in miracles etc.). Our reading makes us captive within this surrealistic
and extremely subjective world. Perhaps, it is Blecher‟s way to live on
through the situations created by words and images in the mind of the
reader, as one of my students put it.
As an author, Blecher talks a lot about interpretation. I found references,
multiple using of the term interpretation, and even impulses to define and
explicit it. He also refers to meaning, sense, significance, painting,
photography etc., when trying to explain or interpret his subjective
experiences, starting from events that are real for the narrator, but may be
their transposing into a novel, having an author that is distinct from the first
person narrator. The subjective world of the narrator (from childhood,
through adolescence to adulthood) becomes the recreating of the world
from the point of view of his extremely subjective and exacerbated
sensations and emotions. The author meditates upon interpretation as an
archaeology of subjective sensations and feelings (e.g. the objects recall
subjective emotions and evoke images, Blecher 1936, 59 & 61), as an
invention or reinvention of reality (Blecher 1936, 67), as the deciphering of
some oneiric and surrealist scenario (Blecher 1936, 52). If hermeneutics is
about interpretation in order to understand, as I have stated earlier, for
Blecher one does not interpret in order to understand, but in order to
invent and continuously reinvent reality from a subjective perspective.
2. The theatrical character of the world in Blecher`s first novel
Adventures in Immediate Irreality or Occurrence in Immediate Unreality is a
theatrical novel. The expression was used by Mihail Bulgakov for the title of his
unfinished novel about theatre where he satirizes Konstantin Stanislavski.
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Independently of Bulgakov‟s sense of the expression, I consider Blecher‟s
first novel to be theatrical because the characters are constructed in a
theatrical manner and the situations are easily visualized. It appears as if he
gives stage directions because of his style of writing. Blecher‟s true reality as
irreality (Blecher 1936, 62), unreality, or surreality is reconstructed in his
emotional imagination by exploring and transfiguring memories. To Blecher
the world is but a scenario, a stage, a spectacle, a fair, a cinema, a wax
museum, a shop window, a game, and a nightmare.
The scenario. The whole book is a surrealistic and oneiric scenario. I chose
a particular scenario as an illustration of the whole: the dream of the
headless woman (Blecher 1936, 110-112). His life resembles an oneiric
scenario that he tries to escape aspiring to get rid of the nightmare (in 1928,
Blecher was diagnosed with spinal tuberculosis, and he lived in the
proximity of death until his early disappearance at the age of 29).
The stage. Part of the scenario is the moment when he finds recreation in
the theatre hall, precisely under the stage. He passes through all the almost
initiatic places from the theatre entrance to a magical place under the stage.
There, he felt liberated from all his burdens, worries, and suffering, as he
managed to find pleasant and hopeful solitarity in a hidden “neutral place
where he was not to be reached” (Blecher 1936, 99-102).
The spectacle of life. Blecher sees the objects around him as part of some
theatre decor or setting: “The theatrical impression followed me everywhere
and it came accompanied by the feeling that everything evolves within an
artificial and sad spectacle” (Blecher 1936, 63). Life itself dilutes to the
effect of some stage scenery. Within the spectacle of life (the spectacular
world), the actors should play emphatically and falsely.
The fair. The august fair with its kitsch atmosphere contributes to the
spectacle of life with its distorted images and exacerbated sensations.
(Blecher 1936, 70-75).
The cinema. The movies that the first person narrator saw are the perfect
pretext to escape bare reality. Somehow, as I have already suggested, the
narrator is most of the times, perhaps not always, Blecher himself. As “there
is no well-established difference between our real self and the interior and
imaginative characters within ourselves” (Blecher 1936, 64), I tend to
believe that the border between the narrator and the author is very
undiscernibly fragile. The cinema, the fair and the wax museum experiences
are part of the same view on the world as a spectacle: “One day the cinema
caught fire. The film tore and immediately went up in flames, which for
several seconds appeared on the screen like sort of a truly warning that the
place was on fire as well as a logical continuation of the device‟s mission to
give the breaking news, a mission that made it, through an excess of
perfection, render the most recent and the most exciting event in the
present: its own conflagration.” (Blecher 1936, 65). Watching movie after
247
movie at the cinema from dawn to wane made the world look even more
spectacular. Even the sunset is perceived as a theatrical effect that the world
is directed to represent. The narrator feels as if he were living in an irreality
composed of distorted images, at the same time detached from the ordinary
people fretting around, truly believing in their real world made of everyday
occupations and small feelings that they took so seriously.
The wax museum. The wax museum is another illustration of the
spectacular world reconstructed by M. Blecher. It is associated with the odd
feeling of a déjà-vu absurd decor. The irreality of the wax museum with its
wax characters “ostensively made life seem fake” (Blecher 1936, 67).
Blecher cannot stop his morbid thought that the narrator‟s body could
become a wax figure in the wax museum, while the author spends his life
watching it. Reality and irreality interweave and eventually change places
with one another: all the pathetic props in the museum suggest more tragic
than any real death. The wax characters and the wax world were the only
authentic ones. Yet, if anything is artificial or kitsch in life, it was borrowed
from the wax museum. The image of the wax bride in the crystal box
anticipates Edda‟s death (if Clara is the woman who awoke the narrator to
spring, Edda is his secretly admired one). He sees the funeral as a “simple
lace of things” (Blecher 1936, 132), as if stage props were being
manipulated in a ritualised manner and in succession, without any feelings
(such as real pain) or deeper meanings.
The shop window. The narrator watches a blue and red clown in a toyshop
window. The mechanical movements of the toy are a moment of bliss,
having a cathartical effect on his agitated mind. The experience almost
makes him cry, and he feels purified in a most simple and authentic way (the
words that he uses are “immaculate”/“spotless”, “cool”/”calmness”, and
“beautiful”). He envies the clown and imagines himself changing places
with it in the theatrical window undisturbed by reality (Blecher 1936, 119).
The game. The strange game invented by the narrator and played with
some friend of his proves that people‟s conversations are conventional, and
that one can talk seriously about anything, including the unreal. Invented
stories had to be taken seriously as if the irreality of the things caught inside
words should not be revealed. (Blecher 1936, 77-78). Part of the game is the
way reality turns into irreality and vice versa. Someone tells somebody else a
story that the latter does not believe because the former seems to boast with
another‟s event. The author finds it appropriate to use the respective story
in his novel as if it happened to the narrator. The author turns the unreality
of the story into reality again (Blecher 1936, 103).
The nightmare. Blecher sees his live as a nightmare. The relation among
awakeness, sleep and dream ends the novel in a subjective apocalyptical
way: “I am awake, but I am sleeping and I am dreaming about my state of
awakeness” (Blecher 1936, 135). It is about personal despair and longing for
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another life, without the pain, and about the need for his true reality: “I
agonize now within this reality, I scream; I beg to be awoken, to be awoken
to another life, to my real life” (Blecher 1936, 135).
3. A theatrical movie by Radu Jude
Radu Jude‟s movie Scarred Hearts (2016) is constructed in perfect harmony
with M. Blecher‟s conception of the spectacular world. The Romanian film
and theatre director Radu Jude transposes Blecher‟s perspective on irreality
into his own fragmented narrativity. The dense descriptions, yet stylistically
fragile of the book are turned into photographic and pictorial images in the
movie. Although the director Radu Jude reinterprets Blecher‟s views on the
theatrical world, his intelligent script is a translation in the sense that he
imposes his own views on the subjects, keeping what seems crucial, adding
or cutting in accordance with his own cultural interests. As any translator,
Radu Jude is a traitor (traduttore, traditore), but for the best of all interests:
Blecher becomes very actual, as the movie speaks to us in the terms of the
present days. Actually, Jude‟s theatrical movie is made in the spirit of the
author.
In Blecher‟s second novel (1937), the image of the world as a morbid
farce is present all along; the author talks about emphatic or theatrical
attitudes, about living puppets, about decor, about some “director of the
neat yet hallucinant spectacle” (Blecher 1937, 63) the main character is
living, about the ill people who lost their identity deep inside their rigid
corporeality, and now all their everyday activities seemed a “ridiculously
fake and useless setup” (Blecher 1937, 80) as if they were playing a
grotesque part in the spectacular world. Also, he mentions the “comedy”
that a man in love creates and his clownish behaviour (Blecher 1937, 94-95)
(a funny situation intercalated within the general turmoil, pain, and torture).
The classical aspect of the film (squared, with rounded corners, in the
middle of two black margins) gives it a retro and vintage flair (the AMPAS
standard ratio in the 30s of 1.37:1). But what‟s most important is that it
offers the sensation of watching through a window to the spectator. Mostly,
the action seems to be taking place within a world detached from the world
of the audience. The two opposite directions of implication and distancing
are originally to be found in Blecher when his subjective experiences simply
swallow us up, but at the same time there is a spectacle of the world that
sets the reader aloof, and the reader becomes an interpreter. Rarely, we get
the privilege to look outside through the two windows that reflect the
seasons that pass by (the windows are illuminated in an irreal, almost
fantastic way when we can see the moon, the rain drops, the snowflakes, or
just the frozen window). But as the two windows symmetrically enframe the
bed, we actually look inside the situations from the outside.
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In my opinion, the movie is an essay to recreated the irreality not as an
immediate one (through subjective sensations and emotions), but by means
of different instances of mediation, such as: mirrored reflections of faces or
objects, even distorted mirror images (obtained by means of distorting
mirrors), pictorial frames, photographic frames, or frames reproducing
famous paintings. The internal world is always reflected within the external
one in Radu Jude‟s movies; for this, he pays much attention to the lighting
(e.g. the way it falls upon nature or the objects, or the way it is trapped and
handled) and to recreating various sensations (including olfactory ones,
which is extremely rare in films). When the mirror intermediates the human
relationships, or when Emanuel tries to decipher what he has become (the
interiority evaporated, while the extreme corporeal identity has remained
like a burden), Jude catches the interval between the real and the oneiric by
using images, props, and gestures, just as Blecher does by using words
(Blecher 1937, 64).
The essay to recreate the irreality is doubled by realism. It is a
documented movie, which begins and ends with elements, including
photographs, from Blecher‟s biography (e.g. his manuscripts and his
drawings). There are many references to personalities who influenced
Blecher (e.g. George Bacovia or Emil Cioran). Sometimes the discourse
becomes politically oriented (Hitlerism and nationalism are criticized; antiSemitism is brought in a scene specially conceived on the purpose, the main
character Emanuel being a Jew). Besides, I find it very useful that the
director insists on explaining what scarred hearts mean: the ill people at the
sanatorium felt so much pain that they became immune to it, and they do
not feel anything anymore, as if their hearts were made of scarred tissue.
The scenes are multiply fragmented by key quotations from Blecher‟s
writings (white on black); most of them conclude the moments, but some
of the times they explain or anticipate them. It is a technique that works in
theatre in order to create the link among the scenes, and Jude uses it in his
theatrical movie. The setting is also very theatrical with a lot of retro props
evoking the time when the action took place. The static frames also
contribute to the theatrical character of the movie. Jude himself confesses
that “theatre is a better model for abridgements than the classical cinema”
(Europa FM 2016). He gives his own interpretation of Blecher‟s work by
cutting passages or adding moments, renaming the sanatorium, taking out
or renaming characters, whose characterizations are very schematic,
enlarging Emanuel‟s experience with the experiences of other characters in
the book, and generally by changing the nuances of the characters. He also
reinterprets the love story between Emanuel and Solange. The actors play in
a very theatrical way that may seem artificial for cinematography.
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4. A filmic theatrical performance by Radu Afrim
The Romanian theatre director Radu Afrim is also a translator and a traitor
when interpreting Blecher‟s Scarred Hearts (Teatrul de Stat Constanta, 2006)
with the sole difference that Jude is more realistic than him, while he is
more inclined towards surrealism. Radu Afrim has the tendency to turn the
novel into a scenario which reflects his own theatrical obsessions, in such a
way that his own oneiric and surrealistic aesthetics takes over the aesthetics
of the author himself. The atmosphere created by the theatre director Radu
Afrim is actually a very blecherian one. Because I consider Blecher to be a
surrealist, as well. Since Blecher is a surrealist, and Radu Afrim follows
Blecher when creating the surreality, namingly the irreality expressed by
Blecher‟s novel, surrealism becomes, as paradoxically as it may seem, a
stronger reality than reality itself as reflected by realism or naturalism. Like a
hyper reality reflecting the human condition.
Blecher‟s conception of the spectacular world turns into a lively, vibrant,
ludic, frenzied, rapturous, and delirious show. The minimalist decor fully
demonstrates that less is more, because instead of excessive ornamentation
the spectator is offered sensations, emotions, and states of mind (essential
props and stage effects, such as gramophones and miniature gramophones,
or inventive abat-jours coming down from the ceiling, contribute to it). The
director seems to understand the author not at least as well as he
understood himself, but even better. Actually, surrealism and oneirism
themselves are being translated into some kind of magical realism (the
general atmosphere of the show, due to the lighting and sound effects).
Blecher‟s subjective and sensorial descriptions are made into stage visual
images (Afrim reads Blecher in a visual manner, and they have similar
visions), or transposed into storytelling. Whole human situations or actions,
as well as nature or the weather are conveyed by lines, in the monologues of
the main character overlapping the same line spoken by some secondary
character (perhaps, Emanuel as a child symbolically doubles Emanuel as an
adult), or in dialogical situations when utterance doubles or replaces gesture.
Although it is not cinematic theatre, Afrim‟s tendency to create a filmic
theatrical performance is more than obvious (video background projections
along with text projections; dreamlike choreography; electrical associations
among spoken and projected text, image, and sound, the projected text
being one step ahead from the vocal expression that accompanies it;
inspired changes of the stage lighting – white lighting for the realist
moments, different semi-obscure illumination for the oneiric, surrealistic, or
bizarre moments; the acting resembling that encountered in an art film; and
the scenes tending to become frames in an uninterrupted continuous),
wherein the scripted characters are strongly built, and at the same time
brought to life, meaningly to the irreality, surreality or hyper reality of the
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show (theatrical displays of grief, such as forced explosions of laughter out
of the despair of the characters looking for their identity and human dignity
lost within their plastered bodies; invasive attitudes because of past traumas
in the eccentrically and so strongly built character of Eva, once a patient
herself, now a nurse, to whom the director offers a generous “partiture” in
his own scenario; and odd absent-mindedness when characters are built in
an oneiric manner, like they were made of spider thread). The forced
immobility of the characters trapped in wheel-beds is counter-balanced by
twisted physicality, erotic gestures and pulsating stage movements. The line
between agony and ecstasy is so fragile that the passing from joyfulness to
sadness is juggled at the lightning speed.
References
Afrim, Radu. 2006. Inimi Cicatrizate (Scarred Hearts) (theatrical performance). Constanta:
Teatrul de Stat. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T72C29bI6xQ (trailer)
Blecher, Max. 2016. Întâmplări în irealitatea imediată (the present edition that I used
reproduces the original Blecher, M. 1936. Bucharest: Vremea Editure, the
translations of the quotations are mine). Bucharest: Cartex.
Blecher, Max. 2016. Inimi cicatrizate (Scarred Hearts) (the present edition that I used
reproduces the original Blecher, M. 1937. Bucharest: The Editure of the
”Universala” Book shop Alcalay&Co., the translations of the quotations are
mine). Bucharest: Cartex.
Blecher, M. 2016. Inimi cicatrizate (Scarred Hearts). Bucharest: Humanitas.
Jude, Radu. 2016. Scarred Hearts (film). Romania, Germany, Switzerland: Produced by Hi
Film in coproduction with Komplizen Film, in association with BORD CADRE
FILMS. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fjt8-HPIAD8 (trailer)
Jude, Radu. 18 noiembrie 2016. Europa FM. http://www.europafm.ro/radu -juderegizorul-filmului-inimi-cicatrizate-nu-mai-sunt-adeptul-cinema-ului-care-l-iaprizonier-pe-spectator-audio/
Palmer, Richard. 1968. Hermeneutics. Interpretation Theory in Schleiermacher, Dilthey, Heidegger, and
Gadamer. Evanston: Northwestern University Press.
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Roxana Patraş
VARIA
Roxana PATRAŞ *
Dematerialization and Form-of-Life
in Matila Ghyka’s Writings
Abstract: My analysis applies on Matila Ghyka‟s memoirs, whose second volume
is entitled Heureux qui comme Ulysse… (Happy is He Who, Like Ulysse…). A hybrid
narrative, half-fictitious and half-biographical, Ghyka‟s memoirs awake, through
the chosen title, the memory of Classical tranquility from Joaquin du Bellay‟s
sonnet. Estimating the core meaning of the referent text, I found that the poem
inspiring Ghyka is not devoted to Ulysses as a heroic character but to those that
can turn his model and narrative into an icon of “happiness”, similar to the
exemplary stories of Buddha, Abraham, Moses or Jesus Christ. While Ghyka
is secretly unfolding this repetitive, enchanting pattern, his Ulysse comes to the fore
not as voice of confession but as a voice of a trained memory and trained will.
Applying Giorgio Agamben‟s suggestions on how the theories of “Form-of-life”
should be grasped, I propose to define Ulysses‟ prophetic voice from Matila Ghyka‟s
memoirs as such Form-of-life. Hence, a certain inclinaion towards massive selfreferencing unfolds, in the manner of le Bon‟s theory on dematerialization, the
dematerializing aspects of serial writing and experiencing.
Keywords: Dematerialization, Serial Referencing, Form-of-Life, Materiality
of Dreams, Nostalgic Crystallization, Voice, Mannequin Challenge
1. Who or, better, what is Matila Ghyka?
One of the most fascinating figures of the Romanian diaspora is, by far,
Prince Matila Ghyka. Born in 1881, Matila is the son of the Wallachian
officer Matila Costiescu and of Maria Ghyka, the niece of Prince Grigore
Alexandru 5th, who ruled over Moldavia twice (1849-1853; 1854-1856),
actually being the last ruler of the Moldavian Principality before the „small
Union” from 1859. However, he did not inherit the title either from his
mother or from his father, but from his mother‟s half-brother, Grigore
Ghyka, who lost his only child in 1896. Being the unique male successor of
* Department of Interdisciplinary Research in Social Sciences and Humanities, “Alexandru
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Dematerialization and Form-of-Life in Matila Ghyka’s Writings
the Moldavian prince‟ eldest son (Constantin), Grigore agreed to adopt
Matila when, already a teenager, the latter was studying at the French navy
school “Borda”. Being the result of a late decision and of an artificial way of
ensuring lineage, this “princely” title was not treated by Matila as a defining
trait of his public identity, as a source of prosperity or as a propeller for his
social aspirations. On the contrary, he grew perfectly aware that much
of his inherited capital was owing to another Moldavian family, the Balş
family, whose properties had been taken over by his grandmother,
Ecaterina Balş and then by her son, Leon Ghika-Dumbrăveni. In his
turn, Leon Ghika-Dumbrăveni, also called Leon the Magnificent, was –
like the aforementioned Grigore Ghyka – only half-brother to Matila‟s
mother (Sturdza 2002, 251-327).
Compared to Matila‟s new princely title, this branch of the Ghika family
(“Ghika-Dumbrăveni”) had a debatable genealogy and thus was generally
considered impure, even base. Nevertheless, in spite of his aristocratic
legacy, Prince Matila Ghyka always felt himself magnetized by Uncle Leo‟s
personality, whose passion for art and electricity are mentioned several
times in Matila‟s memoirs. Also, his eccentric habits at Dumbrăveni domain
became quite famous around 1900 (Callimachi 2015, 31; Claymoor 1905;
Ghyka 2014, 36, 75-77, 133, 148).
Because they are stamped by half-breeding and incomplete information,
I will quit for now these family intricacies and turn to a more meaningful
way of formulating the hypothesis of my research. I will not try to follow an
individual, but rather an objectified person. Something like a mannequin.
Those readers who are already acquainted with “mannequin challenges” will
surely understand my point here. Who Matila Ghyka was is of lesser
importance than what or how Matila Ghyka was.
So, what is the object-mannequin that we shall henceforth call “Matila
Ghyka”?
In order to find a pertinent answer to this question, I explored Matila
Ghyka‟s preface to his two volumes of memoirs, Escales de ma jeunesse (1955)
and Heureux qui, comme Ulysse… (1956). They also bear an umbrella title in
French (Couleur du monde) and another in English (The World Mine Oyster).
Published 5 years after the French version and 4 years before Matila
Ghyka‟s death, in 1961, the English edition should be considered a
stylization of the previous texts; it is not only a translation and abbreviation
of the original, but also the author‟s proposal of bettering the original.
What fascinates the most in Matila Ghyka‟s works is the technique of
extensive self-quotation, showing the secret communication of texts, a way
of joining them in a system of serial referencing. Yet this is not merely what
may be called, chiefly in the case of great authors, “inner coherence” or
“system of communicating vessels”. Here, repetitions and series have a
special purpose, linked with Ghyka‟s own conception on rhythm and on the
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invariants of Beauty, of Life, and of World in general. As we will see in what
follows, the memoirs, which come the last in the line of Ghyka‟s writings,
endorse, appropriate and embed fragments from earlier narratives: the
collection of short stories Contes marécageux, written around 1900, and
unpublished (Ghyka 2014, 17-18) and the novel Pluie d’étoiles (1933).
Ghyka‟s own comments to his previous texts suggest that these two poles –
that is, the unpublished short stories, the unique manuscript, and the
“successful” novel, the serialized publication – also measure an evolution
from what Matila Calls “irony and stylistic incompletion” to a special kind
of aesthetic achievement.
However, when transferred to a spatialized myth of self-realization such
as the story of Ulysses‟s return to Ithaca (Berard qtd. in Homer 1963, 2930), the idea of evolution – both spiritual and aesthetic – must fall back on a
couple of physical properties: distance as the property of physical space,
and mass as the property of physical bodies. Mass and matter become
particularly intriguing for thinkers such as Gustave le Bon who, through his
theory on dematerialization, became a source of inspiration for Matila
Ghyka‟s own way of articulating a meaning of the great distances he himself
had covered during his life (Ghyka 2014, 116). In Gustave le Bon‟s opinion,
matter is nothing else but pure electricity, mass being only an appearance,
that is, an effect of inertia (le Bon 1907, 101-187). In a nutshell, mass is
something that a body leaves behind after its movement in space, when the distance has
been already covered. In the same fashion, a body, matter in general, represents
the expression (paradoxically, full and fulfilled) of something that is not
simultaneous with that body and with that matter, of something that is
already producing other bodies and matter somewhere else.
In this frame of thought, the serialization of distances, thus the life-style
of a tireless traveler, should have sounded for Matila Ghyka as a good
method of dematerializing his own embodied consciousness. Also, a way
out of John Stuart Mill‟s paradox: “If, therefore, we speak of the Mind as a
series of feelings,we are obliged to complete the statement by calling it a
series of feelings which is aware of itself as past and future; and we are
reduced to the alternative of believing that the Mind, or Ego, is something
different from any series of feelings, or possibilities of them, or of accepting
the paradox, that something which ex hypothesis is but a series of feelings,
can be aware of itself as a series” (Mill 1865, 213-214). Briefly, if
consciousness acknowledged its condition of “thread”, of mere series, it
would also acknowledge the fact that is does not exist.
2. Map in hand: Matila’s way stations
Returning to Ghyka‟s introductory remarks, I will just point out that,
completely outstanding for a memorialist, Matila Ghyka‟s main drive is to
push back confessions, testimonies, and dramatic disclosures. Obviously, in
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the vein of Renaissance treatises (chiefly, Balthasar Gracian‟s), discreetness
and prudence represent qualities that recommended him as a very apt
diplomat of Romania‟ diplomatic corps of the interwar period. However,
this scarcity of intimate details is not determined by Ghyka‟s fear of gossipy
and colorful discoursing on his life. As a matter of fact, his main point in
writing these memoirs is to draw a serial line of “careers”, of virtualities
(Ghyka 2014, 18). His own, but also virtually someone else‟s.
Subsequently, his chase for happiness does not emerge from an ideal of
completeness, according to the aforementioned Renaissance paradigm. I am
sure that Matila Ghyka did not look for a materialized design of personality,
based on the complementarity of talents and on their full actualization. On
the contrary, his sensibility directed him towards the philosophical ground
of mathematical series: the meaning of his memoirs should convey a sense
of dematerialized life, his approach to the Form-of-life.
The concept might come from Plato or from Wittgenstein (MoyalSharrock 2015, 21-42; Agamben 2016, 230-300). Ghyka does not mention it
in this fashion but he repeatedly reflects on the unitary meaning of Life, on
how this can be proved scientifically, on the Forms this unitary Life might
take. Thus, his Form-of-life from the memoirs is drawn like a smooth line
of serial aptitudes and postures developing one into another. Being a
mathematician and a sophisticated researcher of rhythms (Esthétique des
Proportions dans la nature et dans les arts, Le nombre d'or. Rites et rythmes
pythagoriciens dans le développement de la civilisation occidentale, Philosophie et mystique
du nombre), Matila Ghyka also reveals, through his life episodes, a practical
sample of thinking the abstract mathematical series, as well as the
consequences of infinite sequencing.
Florin Manolescu noticed that, given their diversity, Ghyka‟s memoirs
and fiction should be read map in hand (Manolescu 2012). Also, in a group
of four essays published in “Viaţa Românească” between 2014 and 2016,
Ilina Gregori emphasizes the infinite openings offered by this serial linking
of careers, hobbies, passions, aptitudes as well as by the infinite number of
“sunrises” hidden within the pockets of Ghyka‟s écriture. “Progenitură de
neam mare, strănepot de domnitor, cosmopolit şi poliglot, erudit, ajuns în
funcţii înalte şi distins cu înalte decoraţii europene, născut în Moldova,
crescut şi educat în Franţa, absolvent al unor instituţii de studiu de mare
prestigiu, ofiţer de marină, inginer, doctor în drept, diplomat, profesor
universitar, estetician, matematician, memorialist, romancier şi traducător.
Dacă ţii seama, dincolo de această carte de vizită aproape neverosimilă, şi de
datele secundare ale personajului – pasiuni, performanţe, hobby-uri:
călătoriile, colecţiile, filmul, gimnastica, printre altele – te vei strădui
zadarnic să nu „vezi‟ chiar şi cu ochii legaţi că, abordându-i opera, te implici
într-o chestiune care te depăşeşte” (Gregori 2014).
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Within this frame of thought, the series of life-experiences and the series
of readings incented by Ghyka‟s Pluie d’etoiles may prove to be a way to
dematerialize both the living body (the individual, the “who”, the “I”) and
the body of the book (the book as an object). It is not by chance that the
memorialist considers that there are 4 “I”s, which, in the same fashion as
cinema or dreams, build up the illusion of tridimensional/ bodily reality. “În
acest domeniu, am fost încă din copilărie, obiectul ori subiectul unei
puzderii de vise de toate felurile, de la cel euforic în culori bogate, cu
decoruri feerice, până la coşmar, plin de bestii feroce, între care ursul şi
tigrul jucau un rol esential … Îmi amintesc multe dintre aceste vise şi am
băgat de seamă că totul se petrecea ca şi cum un eu, pe care-l numesc eul
fabulatoriu şi care nu se manifesta în viaţa reală (deci deosebit, cel puţin în
aparenţă, de celălalt fabulatoriu ce se manifesta în activitatea mea de
scriitor), încerca să distreze şi chiar să uimească eul firesc, eul temporal al vieţii
de toate zilele, chiar ca martor în somn. Îl numesc temporal ca să-l deosebesc
de eul permanent, judecător şi arbitru, care nu se amestecă, presupun, în acest
joc” (Ghyka 2014, 258). Note that Ghyka‟s actual perspective is more
nuanced than Proust‟s famous distinction on the two “I”s. Again, it is not
by chance that, in spite of their common friends (Ghyka 2014, 257), the
French novelist won Ghyka‟s sympathy only very late, after a few readings.
*
Far from being the type of child conveyed by Proust‟s À la recherche du temps
perdu, Matila Ghyka is the citizen of a Moldavian Byzantium, a reader of
Grimm, Andersen, Plutarch, Herodotus, and Enlightenment authors. As a
pupil of the French boarding schools (St. Anne and Jersey) in the times
of decreed and decried Decadence (1891-1899), he grows into the
consciousness of his European identity. During the holidays, he travels a
lot, from Bade, Gastein, Montrouge, Marsillia, St. Moritz, Merano,
Como, Milano, Geneva, Biarritz, Worishofen (Bavaria), Hohenschwangau,
Neuschwanstein, Munchen, Nymphenburg, Amalienburg, Chiemsee,
Konigsee, Tegern See, Zell am Sie, to Carolles and Cauvigny in Normandy
etc. Then, as an aspirant in the French Navy, he journeys to Madeira,
Canary Isles, Senegal, Caribbean Isles, Antilles and Azores. Once employed
in the Romanian Navy, he lives in several Southern Romanian cities such as
Zimnicea, Constanţa, Sulina, Galaţi. During his studies at École supérieure
d'électricité he lives in Paris and spends pleasure holidays in Worigshofen and
Marne.
He is irrepressibly attracted to the world of theatre and cinema, but also
sketches the core of his aesthetic theories and is quite able to exchange
opinions with the venerable Gustave le Bon. Returned to Romania, he takes
part wholeheartedly to the intense social life of Bucharest and makes tours
on cities such as Suceava, Czernowitz, Rucăr, Braşov, Sibiu, Sighişoara. The
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accreditation of Superelec gives him a new status: Matila Ghyka is now not
only a naval officer, but also an engineer and professor of the Naval School
of Constanta. A short remark on him being a Renaissance man (Borgia,
Machiavelli and da Vinci at the same time) triggers a Shakespearian phrase
that will actually become the title of the memoir‟s English version: The
World Mine Oyster (Ghyka 2014, 141).
3. The vessel of dreams: London, Japan, the Gardens of Paradise
Always, a new adventure is waiting. He leaves for the Caucasian regions and
Persia, together with Georges Bibescu and George Stoicescu. All three
represent Romanian in a diplomatic mission. Once they are back, Ghyka
spends a very glamorous year within the society of aristocratic VIPs such as
Maruka Cantacuzino, Martha Bibesco, Elena Sutu, and the future Queen
Mary of Romania. After that, Matila visits London for the first time. The
life of this city – of the English nation in general, leaves him the powerful
impression that it is organized “according to the elastic and precise
discipline of a battleship” (Ghyka 2014, 187). It is not because of its
locating force that London will obsess him from now on. In many ways,
London becomes the city of dreams and of dreamy experiences, mentioned
several times not only in his memoirs but also in Pluie d’étoiles, due to its
dislocating force. It is not its idealized image, but its containing features that
makes London the vessel of Matila‟s dreams. In spite of the city‟s
geographical concreteness, London seems to be able to move like a ship
from one place to another; to move thus to dematerialize; to dematerialize
thus to be boiled down, in an alchemical fashion, to the substance of
dreams.
Much as I want to expand upon the contents of Matila‟s London dreams,
I have to admit that, in this context, they should be mentioned only for
their serial occurrence and for their perplexing, almost 3D-materiality, also
noticed and emphasized by the author himself. The antiquarian located on
Judd Street, who eventually has been proven to be real, or the tigers that
regain the material properties (such as mass) that they had lost through
cinematic conversion also provide evidence for the author‟s interest in the
issue of dematerialization (Ghyka 2014, 238-239, 257-258, 260, 274-276).
Back to adventures, neither the navy nor the teaching careers appeared
to satisfy the young prince around 1906. Therefore, pretty decided to
become a diplomat, he goes to Brussels in order to pass a doctorate in law.
Apart from the philosophy of natural law, his master, Edmond Picard,
awakens an interest for two painters. Brugel the Elder is admired for his
diminished and pressed figures on the wintery canvass, while Bosch draws
Matila‟s eye not for his famous series of metamorphic monsters but for his
talent of expressing the “gothic elegance” of elongated women (Ghyka
258
Roxana Patraş
2014, 192). Indeed, the singular ways of using bodies in the paintings of
Brugel and Bosch called Ghyka‟s attention and impressed his own
conception on matter and bodies.
Immediately after he is awarded a PhD in Law, he embarks for Berlin
and London, where he holds mostly unpaid offices. Perhaps a bit
disappointed but always keeping a certain eagerness for travels, he decides
to voyage around the world: USA, Canada, Hawaii, Japan, Shanghai, Sri
Lanka, Egypt.
*
It is this apprenticeship journey to the extreme Orient the trigger of Matila
Ghyka‟s aesthetic conception: the rhythms, the series, the arabesque, the
golden number, the spiral of Life, the body‟s meaning. Interesting enough,
this aesthetic experience is brought to the fore not through mere evocation
but through quotation techniques as if, once textualized, these moments
have also acquired the material, 3D properties.
Speaking in terms of quantities, the novel Pluie d’etoiles is mentioned in
Matila Ghyka‟s memoirs around 15 times (which is quite a lot). I could also
identify 8 instances where extensive quotations travel from one text to the
other, all of them counting approximately 10 pages from an amount of 450.
Two of them have drawn my attention in particular. In these cases, the
author gives up quotation marks and cites the fragments from memory in
the same fashion he declaims some Henri Regnier‟s pieces: the first is the
material revelation of “Eve” at Kandy (Ghyka 2014, 274-277) while the
second is a dream about the dematerializing force of love (Ghyka 2014, 260).
4. Maximilien Eulert and Leonhard Euler:
the series as a dematerializing dispositive
Among all these episodes, life in the USA becomes particularly inspiring for
Matila Ghyka, as here he is dawned by the extravagant idea to assume a
fictional identity or to play the comedy of anonymity. He wants to check if
the American typology of the self-made man is possible under any
conditions. To and fro, Matila Ghyka is always on the move; like an
electron…
*
What is Matila Ghyka before the 1st World War? He is “a hero with a
thousand faces” (Campbell 2004) or, even better, an impersonated series of
masks, a gallery of mannequins. Through this serial metamorphosis
(Manolescu 2012), he has already styled himself as a body able to leave
behind its shapes, thus apt to dematerialize to the contour of the “Form-oflife”. A manner of raising forth; a manner of being.
259
Taking distance from Plato‟s original approach, Giorgio Agamben
provides us with a useful definition of the Form-of-life: “Form-of-life is not
something like a subject, which preexists living and gives it substance and
reality. On the contrary, it is generated in living; it is produced by the very one for
which it is form and for that reason does not have any priority, either
substantial or transcendental, with respect to living. It is only a manner of
being and living, which does not in any way determine the living thing, just
as it is in no way determined by it and is nonetheless inseparable from it...
form-of-life is a manner of rising forth, not a being that has this or that property
or quality but a being that is its mode of being, which is its welling up and is
continually generated by its manner of being.” (Agamben 2016, 224).
What is Matila‟s definition of “Form-of-life”? A Moldavian child turns
into an European student, a French navy aspirant, a Romanian navy officer,
an engineer, a professor, a jurist, a diplomat, a historian, then into a fine and
seductive gentleman in all circumstances, but most of all … into Maximilian
Eulert! But who is this Maximilian Eulert?! Spelled by a malicious sorcerer,
he is the man with an owl head, who will not succeed to turn back into human
if three feathers will not be plucked out of his head plumage. Maximilian
Eulert is a marionette from a German street theatre, Matila‟s frozen posture,
a mannequin challenge. Indeed, Matila Ghyka‟s American identity bears this
funny name of Maximilien Eulert: “Tout me plaisait, surtout le fait que
j‟étais seul, inconnu, absolument indépendant, sans coups de téléphone ni
lettres pour me rattacher au passé dont un océan me séparait. C‟était
comme si j‟avais dépouillé une personnalité pour en revêtir une nouvelle, et
pour compléter cette impression, j‟avais pris le nom d‟une marionette vue
jadis à Münich dans une pièce fantastique dont le héros, métamorphosé en
chouette (la tête seulement) par un mauvais magicien, ne devait reconquérir
son identité que lorsque trois plumes auraient été arrachées de sa tête au
cours d‟aventures abracadabrantes. Ce personnage s‟appelait Maximilien
Eulert et c‟est le nom sous lequel je m‟étais inscrit dans mon hôtel de
cabotins de bas étage. C‟était, encore une fois, une évasion complète
hors du passé, et l‟impression de soulagement, due à l‟arrêt complet de
l‟engrenage de ce passé, était délicieuse” (Ghyka qtd. in Manolescu 2012).
Is this strange marionette, whose name overlaps Matila Ghyka‟s American
identity, a signifier of Matila‟s life? Is Maximilian Eulert a fabulous persona of
the mathematician Leonhard Euler, who got blind because of his enormous,
superhuman work on cartography? Leonhard Euler, who had invented
mathematic notation, and who was eventually chased away from the court
of Frederick the Great of Prussia? Is he the type of the “poet-adventurermathematician”, epitomized by Claude Farrere in his novel Les Civilisés as
well as by Matila Ghyka‟s several portraits of fellow officers from the
French Navy (Claude Farrere, Piere Louys, Yves Lecerf)?
260
Roxana Patraş
5. From Joaquim du Bellay’ to Matila Ghyka’s Ulysses:
nostalgic crystallization and Form-of-Life
But the series of way stations is by far not completed. After the 1st World
War, he marries Eileen O‟Connor, an Irish noblewoman, and becomes a
family man. This Ulysses, beforehand a mannequin called Maximilien
Eulert, has not reached his natal island. Nor can he see from the distance
“the smoke coming out of his house‟s chimney”. Probably he is a bit
puzzled because he has not found out yet where his natal land is located. In
1918, he is again in the USA, in 1921 he works at the Romanian embassy of
Madrid, in 1924 he moves to Warsaw. After 1924, he decides to live in
Paris, where he makes friends with Paul Valery, Lucien Fabre, and LeonPaul Fargue. In 1928 he restarts his diplomatic activity for the International
Commission of Danube established in Bratislava and Vienna, in 1930 he
returns to Bucharest but at the end of the year is sent to Stockholm, where
he writes his novel, Pluie d’etoiles, which is introduced to his fellow
countrymen as a “propagandistic novel” (Gregori 2016). Immediately after,
he takes his family for a trip to the USA, where the children Maureen and
Roderick satisfy their curiosities about Hollywood and their father remakes
the secret trajectory of his first journey from 1911. Another stay in London
(1936-1938) comes after an interlude in the capital of Romania.
In 1940, he decides to quit diplomacy and consecrates to a writing career.
Apparently, in the same year he starts working at his memoirs. Dealing with
this impersonation of Ulysses, it is perhaps relevant to emphasize – as Mihai
Sorin Rădulescu does (Rădulescu 2008), the symbolic dimension of the
place where the second volume of memoirs is finished: a huge Irish house
from the 17th century situated in a park, not far from Dublin (Ghyka 2014,
466-467). As everyone already knows, Dublin is also James Joyce‟s
archetypal place for his archetypal hero, Stephen Daedalus. But Joyce‟s
Dublin is written or imprinted with what Jean Starobinski calls “the ink of
melancholy” (Starobinski 2012, 283-331). And Matila is looking for
happiness, the happiness of dematerialized bodies, the happiness of pure
movement.
*
My aim is not to provide here a snapshot of what the elaborate Joycean
scholarship has produced for over a century. However, I am tempted to
compare the urban melancholy and general un-fulfillment of Joyce‟s
character with Matila‟s permanent disposition for happiness. Briefly said, to
compare a character penned with “the ink of melancholy” and a narrating
voice that conveys the nostalgic‟s “ecstasy”, which was noticed by the
physician Johannes Hofer in the 16th century (Hofer, qtd in Davies 2010,
262-268).
261
This Moldavian Ulysses voices the story of his voyages from a place,
whose atmosphere is compared with the Emerald Island, the island of the
ones who found happiness. It is not the first time when Matila Ghyka
actualizes this archetypal image of serene happiness. He mentions it when
he narrates his chase after Rakon, Chojiro‟s golden seal of happiness
(Ghyka 2014, 90, 233) all the way through the Japanese islands, when he
comments Böcklin‟s painting Isle of the Dead (Ghyka 2014, 108), and when
he reaches the Golden Gate of San Francisco. In all three situations, the air
is so “transparent”, that it seems to facilitate access into the very nature of
things. It seems to have no actual weigh.
*
All in all, happiness gains the force of a philosophical motif that synthetizes
Ghyka‟s oriental experiences. In Yokohama, where he finds the Street
and the Temple of the Goddess of Happiness, Benten (Ghyka 2014,
234). In Kyoto and Nagoya, where he experiences a strange feeling of
dematerialization, induced by the Japanese cult for inner harmony and by
the philosophy of Zen. In Ceylon, where he has the epiphany of Eve‟s
embodied archetype. Returned to Romania, at Chilia, he has a fabulous
dream entitled The Garden of Love, which seems a written replica of Bosch‟s
Garden of Paradise or of the Japanese embroidery having as theme The
Fortunate Island, the Island of the Blessed (Ghyka 2014, 329). While Joyce‟s
Ulysses comes with brand new literary techniques such as pronounced
intertextuality and fragmentation but also with gloomy and melancholic
setting, Matila Ghyka‟s Ulysses presents us with a proposal of nostalgic
crystallization.
Marked by the same dynamic rhythm, Matila Ghyka‟s aesthetic maturity
is synthetized by Joachim du Bellay‟s verse, which actually gives the title of
the memoirs‟ second part: Heureux qui, comme Ulysse… Member of the
Pleiade, the French poet also inspires Jean Starobinski in his studies on
melancholy and nostalgia. Reevaluating what he had written about nostalgia
in 1966, Starobinski comes with a series of 3 studies, among whom the first,
published in 2003, presents the stereotypes of “douceur”. These are Ulysses,
Ovid‟s voice from Tristia, Roland, and Du Bellay‟s lyrical voice from Regrets.
Noticing that Starobinski picks up for demonstration Du Bellay‟s 12th
sonnet while Matila Ghyka is developing on the 31st (Heureux qui, comme
Ulysse), I could not help to ask myself: Isn‟t Heureux qui, comme Ulysse a far
more adequate piece for the cultural circulation of the motif sketched by the
Swiss critic? But first, let us quote the poem: „Heureux qui, comme Ulysse,
a fait un beau voyage,/ Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison,/ Et puis
est retourné, plein d‟usage et raison,/ Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son
âge!// Quand reverrai-je, hélas, de mon petit village/ Fumer la cheminée, et
en quelle saison/ Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,/ Qui m‟est une
262
Roxana Patraş
province, et beaucoup davantage?// Plus me plaît le séjour qu‟ont bâti mes
aïeux,/ Que des palais Romains le front audacieux,/lus que le marbre dur
me plaît l‟ardoise fine:// Plus mon Loir gaulois, que le Tibre latin,/ Plus
mon petit Liré, que le mont Palatin,/ Et plus que l‟air marin la doulceur
angevine”.
Estimating the core meaning of Du Bellay‟s sonnet, I found something
that enlightened Matila Ghyka‟s approach to the “mono-myth” of Ulysses.
Of course, one should take into consideration Ulysses‟s doubled posture: he
is the prototype of the traveler and he is the first Classical hero endowed
with a Voice. As a matter of fact, Ulysses‟s voice is considered by some of
the historians the mythical legitimation of Rhetoric as science. The hero is
said to have written the first treatises of rhetoric during the peaceful
interludes of the Trojan War (Florescu 1973, 23).
But what is this Voice saying in Du Bellay‟s sonnet? First of all, the
poem is not an eulogy of Ulysses‟s heroism. The recipients should be those
that are able to turn Ulysses‟s model of happiness into a norm of their life
course. The emphasis on “happiness” is here similar to the one contained
by the exemplary stories of teachers who had turned themselves into such
Voices: Buddha (teaching Zen), Jesus Christ (teaching the Gospel), Allah
(teaching Coran), Zarathustra, Siddhartha, and so forth. Now, has the
Classical Ulysses appended a book of teaching in the fashion described
above? Of course he has not! After all, Homer‟s Odyssey could be taken (and
it surely has been taken) for just anything except for a book of prophecies.
Nevertheless, here is the bend of Matila Ghyka‟s reflection: to attach a
prophetic dimension to these Ulyssean series of “mannequin” postures. On
the one hand, the experience of dematerialization draws to the invariant of
all prophets‟ lives. On the other, the end of a dematerialized life is attained
only through serialized movements. While Ghyka is secretly unfolding a
repetitive and enchanting pattern of prophetic diction, his Ulysse comes to
the fore not as voice of confession but as a voice of a trained memory and
trained will. Compared to the Classical hero‟s other avatars, Ghyka‟s Ulysse
is a Prophet, able to provide teaching and training for those who pursue
happiness.
Blamed by recent Romanian reviewers for alleged aesthetic imperfections,
the redundancy of novel fragments, their occurrence within the text of
memoirs, the paradoxical immobility of Ghyka‟s travel accounts convey a
special type of working with quintessential memory. Abundantly transcribed
and explained in these memoirs (which, in their turn, have two different
versions, in French and, respectively, in English), intra-textual references to
his previous novel Pluie d’étoiles should call our attention to something
deeper than individualization through mere storage of memories. As a
matter of fact, Matila Ghyka did not give much on who he was but on what
his movements left behind: shapes, bodies, postures, figures, all of them
enchained in the great mystery of the Form of Life.
263
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Stanford University Press.
Berard, Victor, qtd. in Homer. 1967. Odiseea. Vol 1. Translated by Eugen Lovinescu. Text
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Callimachi, Ana-Maria. 2015. Lumea toată era a mea. Amintirile unei prinţese, Translated from
English by Lidia Grădinaru. Prefaced by Dan Berindei. Notes by Filip-Lucian
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Campbell, Joseph. 2004. A Hero with a Thousand Faces. Priceton: Princeton UP.
Claymoor. 1905. “Dumbrăveni la 1905.” Independence roumaine. 19 iulie.
Florescu, Vasile. 1973. Retorica si neoretorica. Bucureşti: Editura Academiei RSR.
Ghyka, Matila C.1933. Pluie d’étoiles. Paris: Gallimard.
Ghyka, Matila C. 1955. Couleurs du monde. Escales de ma jeunesse. Paris: Éditions du vieux
colombier.
Ghyka, Matila C. 1956. Couleurs du monde. Heureux qui, comme Ulysse… Paris: Éditions du
vieux colombier.
Ghyka, Matila C. 1961. The World Mine Oyster. London: Heinemann
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Mărculescu. Bucureşti: Humanitas
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Românească. 9-10.
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Gregori, Ilina. 2015. “Din atenţie s-a născut uimirea. Recitindu-l pe Matila Ghyka la 50 de
ani de la moarte.” Viaţa Românească. 8.
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Hofer, Johannes, qtd. in Davies, Jeremy. “Sustainable Nostalgia”, Memory Studies, 3(3), 2010.
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Enciclopedie istorică, genealogică şi biografică. 1st Volume. Bucureşti: Sigma.
265
La realitas objectiva nella dottrina suáreziana del concetto ...
Ilaria ACQUAVIVA *
La realitas objectiva nella dottrina suáreziana
del concetto: conceptus objectivus e conceptus
formalis nelle Disputationes metaphysicae
The realitas objectiva in Suárez’s Doctrine of Concept: conceptus objectivus
and conceptus formalis in Disputationes metaphysicae
Abstract: This article shows how a theory of object and “objectivity” is elaborated
in Suárez’s Disputationes metaphysicae. It runs from the opposition between teh act of
thought (conceptus formalis) and the contenent or object of thought (conceptus objectivi)
in order to explain what Suárez has to say about the two side of cognition and how
all essential reasons of individual entities falls in it. The objective concept of being,
in its transcendental value, on the one hand is abstract from any categories, and, on
the other, it can be descend to its “inferiora”, since it be intimately included. The
article focuses on the objective reality of being, in order to conceive all those things
wich are included in it, so as to fall under the domain of the metaphysical science.
Keywords: formal concept, objective concept, analogy of being, Disputationes
metaphysicae, realitas objectiva
1. Introduzione: definizione e distinzione tra concetto formale
e concetto oggettivo di ente
L’oggetto delle Disputationes metaphysicae di Francisco Suárez, volto alla
considerazione dell’ente in quanto ente reale, rappresenta il concetto
fondamentale dell’intero sistema, giacché le ragioni di tutte gli enti
individuali rientrano essenzialmente in esso, essendo riconducibili ad una
unica ratio entis, non identificabile immediatamente né con la sola sostanza,
né con l’accidente e, tuttavia, in grado di ricomprenderle in virtù della
analoga e comune referenza all’essere. Il concetto di ente, nella sua valenza
trascendentale, è astraibile, per un verso, da qualsivoglia categoria, pur
discendendo ai suoi inferiori ed essendone intimamente incluso,
contrendosi nell’intera molteplicità delle ragioni specifiche delle sostanze e
degli accidenti. L’intento del presente articolo è volto alla considerazione del
rapporto concetto formale / concetto oggettivo sistematizzato nella noetica
suáreziana, al fine di comprendere tutte quelle cose che sono ricomprese
* Fondazione Collegio San Carlo (Modena, Italie), Scuola Alti Studi. Perfezionamento
triennale in “Scienze della cultura” (indirizzo:Filosofia); e-mail: [email protected]
266
Ilaria Acquaviva
nella ragione essenziale di ente, così da cadere sotto la ragione oggettiva
della scienza in questione.
A partire, infatti, dalla Seconda Disputazione, dopo aver delineato l‟oggetto
della metafisica ed averne definito limiti ed estensione in relazione alle altre
scienze che discendono per specificazione dalla prima, Suárez afferma di
voler trattare della questione di ciò che è “ente in quanto ente” o, detto in
altri termini, della essenza dell‟oggetto precipuo della scienza indagata (DM
I.1.23: “simpliciter verius est dari conceptum obiectivum entis, secundum
rationem abstrahibilem a substantia et accidenti, circa quem per se, et ut sic,
potest aliqua scientia versari, eius rationem et unitatem explicando et
nonnulla attributa de illo demonstrando; hoc autem fit in hoc scientia
[metaphysica]”). A tal fine, a partire dalla prima sezione, l‟autore ripropone la
distinzione tra concetto formale e concetto oggettivo per render conto del
modo con cui l‟essenza dell‟esistente è concepita nella mediazione del
concetto. Il concetto formale, si esplicita fin da subito, è lo stesso atto
dell‟intelletto o meglio il “verbo” mediante cui si concepisce qualcosa. Ad
un primo livello l‟essenza della cosa conviene nella forma con la quale la
mente ne concepisce la ragione intrinseca, in quanto semplicemente
obiettivata, e tale genere di forma essenziale prescinde (o è indifferente
neutralmente) dal modo effettivo con il quale la realtà della sua essenza
viene all‟essere. Il concetto formale è perciò predicabile come “concetto”
perché è il “frutto della mente”, o meglio, ciò in cui l‟atto verbale consiste
ed è definibile, in termini propriamente detti, “concepito”. Nel contempo è
detto concetto “formale” in virtù di tre differenti ragioni: costituisce la
forma ultima della mente; determina la cosa stessa in virtù della ragione
comune per la quale è detta “ente”, cioè, nella forma essenziale che la cosa
stessa possiede come soggetto mentale; è il termine verso cui l‟intelletto
tende strutturalmente ed in cui è risolto l‟atto noetico che consiste nella
sola convenienza dell‟atto mentale con la ragione formale dell‟oggetto
dell‟intellezione.
Il concetto oggettivo, asserisce Suárez proseguendo, è la cosa o la
ragione che viene immediatamente conosciuta mediante il concetto formale.
Il concetto oggettivo è la cosa stessa in quanto rappresentata nell‟atto:
“Concetto formale è detto l‟atto stesso o – il che è la stessa cosa – il verbo con
cui l‟intelletto concepisce una cosa o una ragione comune: esso è detto concetto
perché è come il frutto della mente ed è chiamato formale, sia perché è la forma
ultima della mente; sia perché rappresenta alla mente, in senso formale, la cosa
conosciuta; sia perché in realtà è il termine intrinseco e formale della
concezione della mente, nella qual cosa esso differisce – se si può dire – dal
concetto oggettivo. Si dice concetto oggettivo quella cosa o ragione che viene
conosciuta e rappresentata – propriamente ed immediatamente – per mezzo del
concetto formale” (DM II.1.1., trad. it., 371).
267
Quando si concepisce un uomo, nell‟esempio riportato dallo stesso autore,
l‟atto mentale che si esercita per conoscerlo in accordo alla forma specifica
della mente è propriamente il concetto formale. In questo modo l‟espressione
linguistica significa direttamente l‟oggetto che è rappresentato tramite il
concetto formal (DM II. 2.23: “...sicut voces exprimunt conceptus formales
mentis, ita etiam immediate significant obiecta quae per huiusmodi
conceptus immediate repraesentantur”). L‟oggetto della rappresentazione,
ossia l‟uomo conosciuto nel suo esser-tale, è detto concetto oggettivo. Se ne
ricava che il concetto è detto per “denominazione intrinseca” solo in
relazione a ciò che da esso è prodotto, proprio perché la forma
specificamente inerente alla mente si obietta al modo della concezione, con
la conseguente convenienza formale tra il verbo mentale e il termine
intrinseco in cui si risolve l‟atto della concezione. In senso complementare,
perciò, la materia sulla quale verte la concezione formale, ossia l‟oggetto
rappresentato, è definito concetto solo per “denominazione estrinseca”
poiché è termine materiale al quale l‟intenzione della mente tende ed è
definito “concepito” solo in ragione della rapporto di denominazione
estrinseca che intrattiene con la mente (DM II.1.1: “„conceptus‟ quidem per
denominationem extrinsecam a conceptu formali”; Doyle 1984, 121-160).
Nell‟un caso a determinarsi è il modo della concezione (che è la forma
essenziale dell‟intelletto) come ciò che è intrinsecamente in esso concepito e
nel secondo caso, a specificarsi è, invece, la materia o la ragione oggettiva al
quale è intenzionalmente tesa e diretta il verbo della mente o, in altri
termini, l‟esistenza che la cosa assume proprio in quanto intenzione intesa.
Da ciò derivano delle differenze tra concetto formale ed oggettivo: il primo,
essendo una qualità inerente alla mente, specifica Suárez, è sempre una cosa
vera e positiva ed individuale proprio perché la sua essenza è la stessa
esistenza intenzionale. Il secondo, invece, ossia il concetto oggettivo, non è
sempre un qualcosa di positivo e di vero, dal momento che possiamo
concepire anche degli enti di ragione o delle mere privazioni il cui essere è
soltanto quello, che nell‟ordine della concezione, possiede nell‟intelletto,
senza che intrinsecamente possegga un qualche genere reale di essenza se
non quello che acquisisce nella mediazione dell‟oggettivazione. Mentre poi,
il concetto formale è sempre una realtà singolare ed individuale, essendo
una determinazione particolare inerente ad un intelletto, il concetto
oggettivo può essere sia una realtà singolare e contratta nel suo modo
d‟essere sia, anche e più spesso, una realtà universale concepita in virtù di
una qualche ragione comune e astratta da ogni specifica determinazione.
2. L’unità del concetto formale di ente
L‟analisi prosegue interrogandosi sulla unità o meno del concetto formale di
essere. Il problema è ereditato da un lato per l‟affermazione scotista della
sua univocità (Duns Scoto, Quaest. super Metaph., prol., q. 1) e dall‟altro per la
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difesa tomistica della sua analogicità1: il concetto di essere risulta perciò
conteso tra l‟univocità del suo significato applicata ad ogni cosa che venga
ad essere, per cui dalla unità della ragione univoca di ente concepita ne
consegue l‟unità del suo concetto formale, e la moltiplicazione del
significato di ente per i diversi soggetti di cui si predica in ragione di una
diversità formale della ratio comune posseduta dal primo analogato e gli altri.
Per definire il concetto formale di ente, dopo aver esposto le soluzioni di
coloro che rifiutano una qualche unità nel concetto formale di ente tale da
renderlo distinto dagli altri concetti di enti particolari perché, in caso
contrario, la ragione del nome dovrebbe essere la stessa e l‟ente sarebbe
univoco, Suárez espone i limiti di questo genere di distinzioni fuorvianti che
aumentano la confusione più che chiarificare il problema attorno all‟unità
formale del concetto di ente. Nel chiarire la natura del concetto di ente si
pongono alcune esplicitazioni che serviranno a comprendere la “soluzione”
che Suárez apporta alla questione tramite l‟unità del concetto di essere che
salvi il rigore della nozione richiesto dall‟essere oggetto della metafisica e la
polivalenza del significato riscontrata dalla diversità specifica degli esistenti.
Anzitutto, l‟ente comprende sotto di sé tutte le cose in generale senza che si
debbano concepire, per suo tramite, gli enti particolari. Ne consegue che il
nome di “ente” non significa esplicitamente un concetto semplice ad
esclusione di quelli maggiormente determinati. In secondo luogo è improprio
pensare che il concetto del primo analogato rappresenti confusamente gli
altri analogati secondari in virtù di una qualche somiglianza, perché l‟errore
sarebbe quello di confondere la designazione propria del nome con la
predicazione propria del concetto: infatti, uno stesso nome che s‟impone
per indicare primariamente una cosa è atto a nominarne, traslandolo nel suo
significato, un‟altra secondariamente; ma il concetto formale di una cosa
rappresenta, secondo natura, solo la cosa stessa. Se ne deduce che il
concetto specifico del primo.analogato non è un concetto che contenga,
nella sua indeterminatezza, le ragioni contratte e specifiche degli analogati
secondari, perché è, al più, una occasione strumentale o un medio affinché
gli altri analogati siano concepiti secondo una qualche disposizione correlata
al primo termine. La ragione alla base di ciò che si definisce propriamente
“analogia”, perciò, sostiene Suárez è 1) o una “similitudine reale” tra gli
analogati che trascende la ragione propria o il concetto formale di uno degli
analogati stessi; 2) oppure, più che similitudine secundum esse, è fondata su
una qualche proporzione analoga rappresentata, nella sua ratio comune,
tramite il concetto del primo analogato (senza che questo ente, a cui
s‟impone il nome di un qualche attributo, debba formalmente possederlo
per essenza e non per denominazione estrinseca) che, se per un verso,
rappresenta la forma analoga come è in sé stessa, è occasione strumentale
per concepirla nella sua relazione con gli altri analogati secondari (DM
II.1.7, trad. it. 383).
269
In questa prima caratterizzazione dell‟ente e del suo concetto formale si
pone l‟accento sulla unità della sua ragione intrinseca dal momento che essa
prescinde dagli enti specifici che cadono sotto la sua considerazione e
che possono essere espressi tramite le categorie, riferendosi alla sola
significazione che tutte le cose ricevono all‟interno della comune ragione
di ente.
Il discrimine rispetto alle posizioni brevemente citate in precedenza,
utilizzate da Suárez come contraltari della sua ipotesi, appare ormai chiara:
non si tratta di conoscere e comprendere tutte le cose contenute sotto il
concetto formale di ente per quello che è dato comprendere di tutte le cose
che ricadono nel suo dominio così come sono in sé stesse, ma come sono
significate per suo tramite. La relazione intesa come termine al quale il
concetto formale tende e non è più quella di un rapporto all‟ente
considerato come un tale-ente e nella sua ragione specifica, ma quella di una
relazione del concetto all‟oggetto generale di ente in quanto tale. Se, perciò,
nella sua accezione fondamentale il concetto di ente esige che si prescinda
dalle contrazioni attributive ulteriori ne consegue una certa confusione ed
indeterminatezza che accompagna la definizione formale di ente:
“Resta dunque che il concetto formale di ente come tale, comparato agli enti
determinati come tali, è sempre un concetto confuso e distinto nel
rappresentare questo o quell‟altro ente. Parlo del suo riferimento agli enti
particolari in quanto tali, poiché rispetto all‟oggetto che si rappresenta
immediatamente e propriamente (qualunque esso sia) si può dire che quel
concetto è – e lo è realmente – un concetto proprio e distinto” (DM II.1.8,
trad.it. 385).
La “vera sentenza” suáreziana riguarda, perciò, riguarda l‟unità del concetto
di essere, sia del concetto formale o atto intellettivo, sia del concetto
obiettivo, o realtà intenzionata come materia della conoscenza (Riva 1979,
686-699).
Suárez pone una triplice dimostrazione a sostegno della unità del
concetto formale di ente, come precisivamente distinto secondo realtà e
secondo ragione dai concetti formali degli altri oggetti, ritenendola
corroborata anche da Tommaso d‟Aquino e Duns Scoto e da coloro che si
richiamarono successivamente alle due scuole. La prima prova è tratta
dall‟esperienza interna che l‟uomo ha del proprio uso del concetto di essere:
questo viene usato secondo una unità intenzionale di significato, senza
disperdersi o dividendosi in più concetti in modo che comprovi l‟unità
dell‟atto intellettivo. Il secondo argomento è tratto dal significato del nome
ente ed è provato ricorrendo all‟autorità aristotelica: l‟unità del concetto
formale di ente è dimostrata a partire dalla unità della parola “ente”, con cui
esprimiamo il rispettivo significato per tramite del concetto formale, e tale
unità della denominazione è per imposizione originaria non solo materiale,
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Ilaria Acquaviva
ma anche semantica, non indicando né la natura secondo la sua ragione
determinata, né una pluralità irrelata di cose, ma le cose in quanto
convengono in una comune significazione. L‟unità del significato, o meglio
del concetto, è ciò che precede l‟unità della imposizione del nome mediante
cui lo si definisce. Il terzo argomento è provato dalla unità del concetto
complementare di esistenza posta la identità di ente ed esistenza: il concetto
formale di esistenza è unico nella sua estensione, sia che si faccia riferimento
alle nature attualmente esistenti, che preso nella sua accezione di “attitudine
ad esistere”: anche il concetto di ente in quanto tale assume la stessa ragione
di unità che compete all‟esistenza (DM II.1.8).
Inoltre se il concetto formale di ente fosse molteplice, in virtù delle
differenti ragioni distinte degli enti, allora si giungerebbe ad una plurificazione
infinita dei concetti stessi senza considerare che è, invece, per tramite di un
unico atto d‟intellezione, con cui astraiamo da ogni determinazione, che si
giunge alla semplicità ed alla unità del concetto di ente ut sic e non piuttosto
a partire dalla molteplicità essenziale delle forme degli esistenti.
3. Il concetto oggettivo di ente tra astrazione e inclusione
Se tutti gli argomenti fino ad ora addotti a sostegno della unità del concetto
formale di ente si applicano legittimamente sul piano dell‟ordine cognitivo,
ossia valgono per giustificare l‟unità di ente secondo ragione, nel prosieguo
si specifica come il concetto formale di ente sia diverso rispetto ad altri più
determinati anche secondo realtà. L‟intelletto anche quando divide cose non
realmente distinte in natura forma concetti in se stessi realmente distinti in
virtù dei differenti gradi di astrazione e di precisione con cui “taglia” fuori
tutto ciò che non compete alla concezione formale dell‟ente in quanto tale.
Poiché, dunque, il concetto formale di ente prescinde ed astrae dalla sua
rappresentazione il concetto determinato di sostanza o di accidente, ad
esempio e simili, è realmente distinto in sé stesso dai concetti propri di
queste ragioni specificamente contratte (DM II.1.10-11). La semplicità e
l‟unità del concetto formale di ente, predicata secondo l‟ordine reale, è
ricavata a partire dalla semplicità assoluta della forma reale del concetto di
ente ut sic. La forma che il concetto di ente assume, perciò, nell‟atto
intellettivo è essa stessa secundum esse unitaria e, da ciò ne deriva che lo è
anche la ragione formale ad esso corrispondente per cui è precisamente
distinto, secondo ragione, dai concetti formali determinati degli altri enti. La
mente ha, infatti, una duplice capacità precisiva rispetto alle cose esterne. Da
un lato, compiendo atti distinti, scinde per astrazione cose che in realtà o in
natura non sono realmente separate ed in questo senso distingue realmente
in se stessa concetti formali molteplici; per l‟altro verso, tramite una
risoluzione intellettiva è in grado di sussumere in un unico concetto
secondo realtà e secondo ragione cose che in natura o nella loro esistenza
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effettiva sono distinte. L‟astrazione “formale”, è in grado, infatti, di
considerare l‟essenza di una cosa che è presente nella specie intellegibile
astratta dal fantasma separatamente dalle proprietà della stessa e di giungere,
in tal modo, alla considerazione di un solo aspetto della cosa oggetto della
rappresentazione rispetto alle molteplici determinazioni che può assumere;
l‟astrazione “universale” considera le nature universali nella loro ragione di
comunanza o di convenienza analoga.
Qualora, dunque, la mente riesca a concepire la ragione comune di ciò
che conviene nell‟essere, essa è atta a determinare il concetto oggettivo di
ente ed in quanto immagine, quest‟ultimo è uno, sia nella realtà perché è
realmente distinto dagli altri concetti particolari, sia secondo ragione
prescindendo dalle ragioni degli enti particolari. Per un verso il concetto
oggettivo di ente è unitario come abbiamo dimostrato e per l‟altro, inteso
come “trans-genere” sebbene astragga precisivamente dalle ragioni degli enti
specifici, è tuttavia tale da discendere ed esser compreso nella molteplicità
delle ragioni dei singoli enti a partire dall‟aggiunta di qualcosa di specifico al
concetto di ente in quanto tale, senza che questo debba moltiplicarsi in
ragione della diversità degli oggetti e dei rispettivi concetti specifici che per
addizione si vengono a costituire (DM II.2.35; II.3.7; Courtine 1990, 297).
In definitiva il concetto di ente, nella sua definizione formale e nella
comprensione specifica che si attua per suo tramite, non include nessun
genere di determinazione sostanziale o accidentale e ne prescinde senza
escluderne la possibile appartenenza ed è, perciò, confuso e indeterminato
dato che la sua rappresentazione è neutrale a quella positiva di questo o
quell‟altro ente singolare.
In relazione, dunque, ad una predicazione analogica del termine “ente”
esso assume una figurazione indistinta, ma, considerato in sé stesso, è pur
tuttavia un concetto chiaro e distinto formalmente. Il carattere che gli deriva
dall‟astrazione ed il suo essere neutralmente indifferente alla specificazione
delle ulteriori determinazioni essenziali ed effettive, permette non solo di
distinguerlo, “secondo ragione” dai concetti formali delle altre ragioni
particolari proprio perché “trans-generico”; ma, nel contempo, ne afferma
la sua positiva univocità in quanto uno secondo realtà e nella sua ragione
formale proprio perché assolutamente semplice. Proprio il carattere della
semplicità assoluta, vale a dire la distinzione del concetto formale di ente
come ciò che è sufficientemente garantito nella sua unità da quella acquisita,
invece, a partire dalla ragione formale non a condizione che gli si aggiunga
altro che contragga maggiormente il suo significato, lo rende componibile
con la molteplicità delle ragioni singolari dell‟ente da cui ne risulta
differenziato. In questo modo ben si comprende come il riferimento al
concetto formale di ente non denoti una mera predicazione nominale, ma
possieda in sé una realtà precisivamente distinta alla quale corrisponde un
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concetto oggettivo, il quale più che esser definito contenuto dell‟atto
mentale, è il referente effettivo dell‟intentio mentis.
Come tenere insieme, nella dialettica del primum trascendentale, la
tensione tra astrazione, dal momento che l‟ente costituisce il prodotto della
separazione operata dall‟intelletto essendo distinto dalle ragioni più
contratte e specifiche degli enti, e la sua inclusione nelle ragioni molteplici
delle sostanze e degli accidenti? Si tratta di discendere dalla unità del
concetto formale di ente e con ciò dalla modalità formale intrinseca alla
mente alla stessa unità della cosa concepita. Per quali ragioni si dovrebbe
ammettere o non ammettere l‟univocità del concetto di ente o in altri
termini di ciò che corrisponde al termine estrinseco al quale è teso
intenzionalmente e nel quale si risolve l‟atto mentale? A partire dalla sezione
seconda della seconda Disputazione Suárez ripercorre le ragioni teoriche
dell‟imbarazzo della unità univoca o analoga da attribuire al concetto
oggettivo di ente in quanto ente.
Si ricordi che per Suárez i termini della questione si danno diversamente
rispetto a ciò che è comunemente ritenuto valido, così come è stato
descritto sopra: non è in ragione dell‟unità della cosa concepita che l‟atto
mentale è definito essere unico nella sua ragione, piuttosto è l‟unità
intrinseca alla forma mentis ciò che permette l‟attribuzione di un qualche
genere di unità alla ragione oggettiva del concetto di ente appreso al modo
della intenzione intesa. La ragione formale conferisce un qualche genere di
unità estrinseca al termine o alla materia oggettuale in cui l‟atto mentale si
risolve. E la ragione dell‟unità non è confusa con quella dell‟univocità
coincidendo piuttosto con quella della semplicità assoluta che deriva, al
concetto oggettivo di ente in quanto ente, dall‟essere vertice (o termine
“estrinseco”) dell‟astrazione precisiva, modalità formale propriamente
intrinseca all‟atto mentale.
Ritornando alla più stretta argomentazione suáreziana si riportano, di
contro alla posizione legittimante l‟univocità dell‟ente, le tesi a favore della
unità analoga di cui il concetto di ente in quanto ente si predica. Se, infatti, il
concetto oggettivo di ente dovesse prescindere dalle ragioni determinate e
contratte degli enti come spiegare la sua intima inclusione nella molteplicità
delle ragioni specifiche di ogni ente? Ogni contrazione e determinazione
della ragione comune di “ente” implica una qualche addizione (o secondo
ragione o secondo realtà) e tutto ciò che viene aggiunto è tale da non
contenere in sé la ragione di ciò a cui si aggiunge, perciò le ragioni specifiche
della molteplicità degli enti, discendenti per “contrazione” o per
“addizione” dalla ragione comune ed univoca di ente, saranno di necessità
estrinseche o altro da ciò in cui rientrano comunemente per sottrazione.
Circa l‟unità del concetto obiettivo di essere, dopo aver citato tre
opinioni divergenti, delle quali, la prima attribuita al Gaetano, Ferrarese e
Soncina, confluisce nella negazione della unità del concetto di essere; la
273
seconda, rappresentata da Duns Scoto, afferma l‟univocità dello stesso; la
terza, proposta da Fonseca, in grado di mediare rispetto alle precedenti
poiché basata sul concetto “confuso” di ente, molteplice rispetto agli
inferiori ed uno rispetto a sé stesso, Suárez risolve la questione tramite due
asserzioni ed alcuni corollari a partire dal significato immediato del concetto
oggettivo che corrisponde adeguatamente al concetto formale di ente:
“In primo luogo dico allora che al concetto formale di ente corrisponde
un unico concetto oggettivo, adeguato e immediato, il quale non dice
espressamente né la sostanza né l‟accidente, né Dio né la creatura, ma tutte
queste cose al modo di una sola, vale a dire in quanto sono simili tra loro e
convengono nell‟essere” (DM II.2.8., trad. it., 407).
Ciò che si oggettiva in relazione ad un unico concetto formale è un unico
concetto oggettivo nel quale il primo si risolve intenzionalmente. Ne
discende che lo stesso concetto oggettivo di ente nella sua immediatezza
significa in maniera espressa solo il lato della convenienza e della
similitudine tra le cose, senza alcun riferimento alle loro determinazioni
specifiche. La motivazione, perciò, fondamentale alla base dalla unità
dell‟essere oggettivo di ente, da non confondere con l‟univocità della sua
predicazione, è legittimata in virtù della realtà intenzionata che non è un
aggregato di parti, ottenuto per somma dei differenti enti determinati, ma
l‟effettiva possibile convenienza dei molti nell‟essere. L‟inferenza viene
corroborata dalla citazione di due auctoritates: Aristotele, per ciò che attiene
alla definizione della natura della scienza metafisica, e Tommaso d‟Aquino
per ciò che attiene alla dottrina delle determinazioni categoriali che son in
grado di specificare e contrarre maggiormente una natura quidditativa, il
che, conclude Suárez, sarebbe impossibile se non si ammettesse un comune
riferimento alla unità del concetto oggettivo. La seconda avvertenza, che
preme sottolineare, concerne il modo della unità concepita. La ragione
comune di ente in quanto ente, significata nella immediatezza dell‟unità del
concetto oggettivo, non è una rappresentazione universale della molteplicità
in una univoca ragione, ma quella “confusa” dei molti al modo dell‟uno, in
virtù della comune convenienza possibile nell‟essere. Non si giunge ad una
rappresentazione assolutamente semplice ed unitaria della molteplicità di
ogni singola cosa, dal momento che un genere siffatto di astrazione, distinta
nella sua unità, non compete alle capacità dell‟intelletto umano, ma la stessa
unità, nella sua astrazione è capace di rappresentare, limitatamente, la
ragione della convenienza differenziandola dalla ragione formale della
sostanza e dell‟accidente concepiti in sé stessi. La ragione della comunanza e
dell‟unità oggettiva del concetto di ente, in quanto prescinde dalle ragioni
specifiche degli enti molteplici, si può predicare di queste ultime, sia perché
nella realtà il concetto di ente non le esclude e sia, perché, secondo ragione,
l‟intellezione delle ragioni della contrazione di ente non sono altro dalla
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ragione oggettiva dell‟ente stesso. L‟asserzione precedente non giustifica,
però, la tesi per la quale il concetto di ente debba includere implicitamente e
confusamente le nature determinate dell‟ente ed esprimerne una
immediatamente, perché altrimenti il modo esplicito della concezione
oggettiva di ente coinciderebbe con quello della sostanza. Piuttosto è nella
mediazione del concetto oggettivo di ente che la sostanza si concepisce nella
sua ragione propria e determinata.
Nel quattordicesimo paragrafo della seconda sezione viene fornita una
prova ex re ipsa et quasi a priori a sostegno della tesi dell‟unità del concetto
oggettivo di ente. La tesi per la quale tutti gli enti reali posseggano
veramente una qualche somiglianza nella loro ragione d‟essere la cui unità è
lo stesso concetto oggettivo di ente, fa leva sulla suprema opposizione di
tutto ciò che è ente dal non essere:
“L‟antecedente sembra essere di per sé noto in base ai suoi termini, giacché,
così come l‟ente e il non ente sono diversi e opposti primariamente tra di loro –
ragion per cui diciamo che il principio primo tra tutti è quello secondo cui
qualsiasi cosa è oppure non è –, allo stesso modo qualsiasi ente possiede una
qualche convenienza e somiglianza con qualsiasi altro ente, poiché il nostro
intelletto trova una convenienza maggiore tra la sostanza e l‟accidente, che non
tra la sostanza e il non ente o nulla” (DM II.2.14, trad. it., 419).
A partire da questa attestazione negativa di opposizione in rapporto
all‟essere sarà possibile affermare, positivamente, una qualche reale
convenienza nella comune ragione di tutto ciò che è in quanto negazione
del ni-ente2. Così come è possibile fondare una differenziazione specifica
degli enti in ragione del loro esser-tali, in base alla maggiore o minore
perfezione della loro natura ed in base al convenire comunemente nella
ragione di ente in quanto tale, parimenti, esiste una minore convenienza, ma
pur sempre una eguaglianza formale, nel distinguersi dal nulla. In questo
modo l‟unità fondamentale del concetto obiettivo di ente è data dalla
positiva convenientia o dall‟ “attitudine” per la quale ogni cosa è atta
intrinsecamente ad esistere. Se, in altri termini, le determinazioni specifiche
o le modalità dell‟essere della cosa contraggono una comune ragione è
necessario che la natura di tale ragione analoga sia evidentemente essere
poiché dal nulla non è possibile che discenda nessun genere di divisione. La
ripugnanza rispetto al niente sembra definire la forma intrinseca dell‟essere
reale e giustifica l‟unità del concetto sulla base dell‟espulsione del negativo.
L‟unità o la ragione comune di essere, di cui parla Suárez, non è una
forma eminente dell‟essere, al di fuori dell‟unificazione astrattiva, essendo,
piuttosto, una modalità predicativa autoreferenziale che ne attesta la
semplice possibilità come essenza in rapporto all‟essere. Al di là delle
differenze specifiche che è possibile ravvisare nella molteplicità degli enti,
sotto quest‟unica ragione comune che è quella significata dalla mediazione
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del concetto oggettivo atto a cogliere la realitas objectalis del concepito, tutti
gli “enti” convergono nel concetto comune di “ente”. Il fondamento che
giustifica la convenienza analoga nel rapporto di essere è, perciò, sia “reale”
poiché trova riscontro nella effettività di tutto ciò che esiste attualmente o
meglio ne legittima, solo secondariamente, la possibile attualizzazione al di
là delle cause come effetti; sia perché ciò che la determina “realmente” è il
suo essere conosciuto e tale essere coincide con quello dell‟ esse essentiae,
inteso come oggetto possibile o concepibile all‟intelletto. Infatti, l‟unità
dell‟ente, sia nella differenza modale che nella attribuzione intrinseca, è
fondata sulla incontraddittorietà dell‟essenza: negativamente nel non-essere
nulla e positivamente nella sua “attitudine ad esistere” comune a tutti gli
enti, secondo poi differenti modalità di effettuazione. In precedenza,
affrontando la questione del rapporto tra concetto oggettivo e concetto
formale, si era reso esplicito l‟assioma suáreziano per il quale la forma
rappresentativa è indistinguibile dall‟atto stesso della rappresentazione,
giacché la cosa stessa si determina primariamente come correlato oggettuale
dell‟intelletto stesso. Poiché, dunque, la ragione oggettiva con cui l‟oggetto è
rappresentato, nell‟atto dell‟intellezione, è conforme immediatamente alla
ragione formale con la quale la cosa stessa è in se stessa, l‟oggetto stesso in
quanto concepito è conforme a se stesso nel suo essere reale e possiede quel
tanto di essere oggettivo di cui realmente è capace.
L‟esse obiectivum è il luogo della situazione del vero nella noetica suáreziana
nella misura in cui la modalità formale propria con la quale procede il
dinamismo intellettivo ed il termine al quale intenzionalmente tende il
movimento della stessa rappresentazione esprimono, mediatamente per via
del concetto, l‟essere in quanto ciò che si obiettivizza in presenza alla mente
e, il “concepito” è detto oggettivo solo perché è l‟oggetto o la materia su cui
verte l‟atto ultimo dell‟intellezione e solo in rapporto al modo intrinseco della
ratio formalis. La concomitanza dell‟oggetto, perciò, alla rappresentazione
non è una adeguazione della seconda all‟essere reale della prima, né è da
intendersi come estrinseco accompagnamento di ciò che è altro dal giudizio
dell‟intelletto, ma come la costituzione della realtà oggettiva in quanto modalità
propria della realtà rappresentata. Nel processo stesso della conoscenza non
bisogna immaginarsi più momenti che dapprima comprenderebbero la
creazione di una somiglianza formale e successivamente un atto secondo
che coglierebbe tale immagine, realmente distinta dalla cosa stessa e dall‟atto
conoscitivo. L‟ objectum non è da intendersi come una res extra causas sua
posita nel suo esercizio dell‟esistenza, rappresentando, piuttosto il termine
dell‟intellezione. La relazione intenzionale va intesa in senso ampio,
avvicinandosi al respectus trascendentalis (DM XLVII.4.2). Proprio questa
separazione o obbiettivazione che il pensiero fa di se stesso ed il rapporto di
corrispondenza reale, per mezzo dell‟essere obiettivo, tra pensiero e pensato
ratifica, nella significazione del concetto, la realtà dell‟essere stesso.
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L‟esplicitazione dei corollari in cui abbiamo deciso, al momento, di
addentrarci non è vana nell‟economia specifica della nostra più stretta
argomentazione, perché l‟intento è mostrare come nella possibilità
ontologica passa la certificazione di ciò che è reale, ossia pensabile
negativamente come ripugnanza al niente assoluto e come posizione
rispetto al ni-ente privativo (in quanto mancante dell‟attualità dell‟effetto) ed
atto ad esistere in virtù della relazione che lo lega ad una potenza
eminentemente effettiva. L‟effettività dell‟esistenza e la realtà dell‟essenza
sono ratificate nella concezione della pensabilità ontologica dell‟esser qualcosa (positivamente) o nella negazione del non-nihil e questo primo
grado, per così dire, minimo d‟essere fonda la significazione del reale la cui
unità formale e la cui referenza non esiste se non per mezzo dell‟operazione
intellettiva senza che quest‟ultima, a sua volta, si riduca a rappresentare mere
finzioni poiché anch‟essa opera nella comune ragione dell‟essere oggettivo,
sulle cose realmente obiettivabili.
In definitiva l‟unità della ragione oggettiva di ente esiste per una
operazione della mente, ossia perché l‟intelletto è capace di astrarre dalla
realtà un siffatto genere di concezione; e parimenti l‟atto primo con cui la
mente costituisce in senso formale la realtà intrinseca del movimento
intenzionale, è il concepire solo in senso realmente oggettivo. La divisione
primaria dal non-ente coincide con l‟ aptitudo all‟esistenza e a sua volta
questa coincide con la ratitudo dell‟essenza: la posizione della cosa in
rapporto alla realtà dell‟essere, che è rimessa a sé stessa, le deriva dalla sua
stessa pensabilità. L‟unità dell‟ente corrisponde all‟unità del nostro stesso
concepire. L‟ente in quanto ente, si comprende con più chiarezza, si
determina nel suo statuto ontologico, come “concepito” secondo il modo
dell‟aliquarum rerum od anche l‟essere extra nihil dell‟aliquid prima ancora che
quiddità sia data in ragione della sua effettiva esistenza. La possibilità
ontologica limita e contrae il campo della pensabilità, della realtà
dell‟essenza e della attualità dell‟esistenza di ogni cosa.
Proprio per questo motivo si giunge alla “trascendentalizzazione del
concetto di ente” visto che l‟ente è ormai condizione a-priori di pensabilità.
L‟intento è quello di caratterizzare il modo dell‟esser possibile in generale
attribuibile all‟essenza prima ancora che sia resa effetto o creata da Dio,
dunque a prescindere dal rapporto causale o dalla specificazione per cui la
cosa è al di là della semplice posizione assoluta dell‟aliquid come extra nihil.
Da ciò si deduce che la ragione dell‟unità analoga di tutto ciò che è ente in
quanto ente è nella “attitudine” o meglio nella doppia non ripugnanza: 1) nonripugnanza o sottrazione del qualcosa al ni-ente; 2) non-ripugnanza all‟essere
materia o soggetto dell‟azione efficiente della Causa prima.
La sistematizzazione e la rivoluzione, nel seno stessa della tradizione che
Suárez compie in questo caso, è quello, rompendo con la tradizione
tommasiana, di considerare l‟atto dell‟esistenza non come fondamento dello
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stato di semplice possibilità (o dell‟essenza) ma come fondato e dipendente,
in senso trascendentale e gnoseologico almeno, da quel non-nulla che è il
minimo d‟essere di cui è capace la possibilità essenziale per realizzarsi in
virtù della azione della causalità che ne produce lo stato di esistenza.
Per questo motivo non sarà, dunque, contraddittorio concepire le nature
di tutto ciò che è “ente” prescindendo dall‟efficienza divina e dall‟esistenza
attuale3. Il primo costitutivo della cosa così concepita che si offre in quanto
oggetto per tale concezione è lo stato di semplice possibilità di ciò che, in sé
stesso, è la non-ripugnanza all‟essere ed è tale unità oggettiva nella ragione
di ente ciò in cui convergono realmente tutte le cose ed è solo in virtù di
questa essenza che questo “nulla” è concepito come atto ad essere realizzato
nell‟effettività della sua essenza. Perciò la convenienza di tutte le cose nella
ragione analoga di “ente” si fonda per un verso sulla possibilità dell‟essenza
(parte oggettiva del concetto di ente) e per l‟altro sull‟atto d‟essere (parte
formale del concetto di ente), e nel rapporto della rappresentazione alla sua
“oggettità” sorge il problema della legittimità della realtà del pensato
nell‟ordine formale del pensiero stesso.
4. Conclusioni
Abbiamo, dunque, mostrato come la convenienza degli esseri si giustifica
nella unità del concetto oggettivo e su questo poggia l‟analogia dell‟essere:
“Tutto ciò si fonda sull‟argomento che abbiamo addotto in precedenza da San
Tommaso, e cioè che l‟analogia dell‟ente non consiste in una qualche forma,
presente intrinsecamente in uno solo degli analogati ed estrinsecamente negli
altri, bensì consiste in un essere o in un‟entità partecipata da essi tutti
intrinsecamente: è in questa ragione, dunque, che le cose convergono realmente
tra loro e di conseguenza posseggono un‟unità oggettiva nella ragione di ente”
(DM II, 2.14, trad. it., 421).
Ora, a sua volta, la ragione oggettiva e comune di “ente” o, il primo spettro
di significazione della realtà che è quella della non-impossibilità (o della
possibilità come semplice posizione al di fuori del nulla), trova il proprio
fondamento nell‟atto d‟essere che è la parte formale del concetto oggettivo,
ossia rappresenta alla mente, al modo proprio della forma o dell‟atto stesso
del pensiero, nient‟altro l‟essenza dell‟ente, che a sua volta, conformemente
a sé stesso nel suo essere reale, si rende materia o termine estrinseco della
relazione noetica e si lascia comprendere mediatamente nel concetto.
Suárez non confonde né sovrappone, ingenuamente, la sostanza seconda
o l‟apprensione quidditativa propria della rappresentazione mentale come
fondamento ultimo della sostanza prima proprio perché la frattura dualista
della concezione veridica come adeguazione di “due sostanze” o due realtà
differenti è risolta, interamente, nella aptitudo intrinseca dell‟ente in quanto
tale che altro non è se non essenza reale.
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La possibilità, come stato precedente alla realizzazione di tale
“attitudine” essenziale degli enti, esprime in senso formale, la denominazione
intrinseca che la cosa stessa possiede come prima “disposizione” a cui tende
immediatamente l‟intentio mentis, proprio in virtù della corrispondenza tra l‟
“oggettività” che è il significato reale, colto nella mediazione del concetto di
essere, e il modo con cui il qualcosa nella comprensione si obietta,
convenientemente alla sua stessa realtà formale, in atto all‟intelletto.
Ma l‟ens, concepito nella sua intrinseca ratio, non rende logicamente
possibile la creazione, né l‟esistenza deve essere ingenuamente intesa come
la “realizzazione fattuale del concetto” o la sua “posizione esteriore e al di
fuori del pensiero” perché l‟intento è proprio quello di declinare, sul piano
noetico e reale di volta in volta, la relazione che l‟ente in quanto ente reale
intrattiene, in virtù o dell‟essere per disposizione intrinseca semplicemente
un non ni-ente, o in virtù dell‟essere, in rapporto estrinseco alla causalità,
una potenza atta ad esistere realmente al di fuori della causa. L‟intento, in
altri termini, è quello di comprendere la ragione reale di dipendenza
ontologica dalla Causa prima che l‟ente in quanto ente creato possiede nella
intrinseca “attitudine” della sua stessa essenza. Se ciò è vero, allora, il porsi
di qualcosa al di fuori delle sue cause non si identifica, perciò, ormai tramite
il passaggio dalla potenza all‟atto, ma con il rapporto tra la possibilità divina
(e con l‟intelletto divino più precisamente eternamente ideale) e la possibilità
intrinseca della realtà essenziale concepita oggettivamente. Solo in questo
modo, l‟atto d‟essere degli esistenti, parte formale del concetto di ens ut sic,
non si predica di una relazione o denominazione meramente estrinseca
rispetto all‟azione del Primo agente, ma diviene uno stato reale o un essere
partecipato da tutte le cose intrinsecamente.
È nel medium dell‟esse objectivium che si rende espressa la ratio entis dell‟ente
nella duplice valenza di relazione trascendentale / logica e in quella di
relazione reale / causale. La conseguenza non è, nella posizione noetica
suáreziana, l‟intelligibilità dell‟ente non viene scambiato per il carattere
essenziale dell‟ente stesso (Siewerth 1959; Esposito 2007, 763-772) poiché,
sebbene Suárez separi la possibilità del nulla dall‟essenza reale ed assegni a
quest‟ultima lo statuto dell‟essere in atto e determini formalmente il primo
modo della possibilità come “potenza oggettiva” inerente all‟essenza, pur
tuttavia la sola azione efficiente dell‟intelletto, nel movimento noetico,
sebbene sia ragione necessaria e sufficiente della comprensione del
significato intrinseco di ciò che è ente, è insufficiente e non ne garantisce,
immediatamente, un riferimento reale adeguato. La referenza della
significazione di ente non è più la cosa stessa in quanto esistente o la
materia esterna dell‟apprensione (visto che l‟ordine dell‟essere non è
eccedente la forma essenziale degli enti al pari di una prospettiva tomista
essendo originariamente co-estensivi), ma la convenienza di un esse objective in
intellectu che rimanda, intrinsecamente, alla realtà dell‟essenza e al suo
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rapporto, in quella relazione trascendentale / logica, all‟efficienza del Primo
agente che rende la possibilità del non-niente realtà attuale.
L‟intento è quello di radicare l‟intima trascendenza dell‟essere nei termini
della unità rappresentativa che altro non è se non l‟attitudine reale ad
esistere che formalizza ogni essenza ponendo una relazione stretta tra la
potenza oggettiva / trascendentale della ragione di ente e la disposizione
reale/metafisica che qualifica l‟ente atto ad essere creato. Tuttavia non è
possibile affermare che “l‟essere fondamentale ed assoluto è l‟oggettività
reale” (Prieto 2006, 91-136) partendo dalla considerazione che l‟essenza sia
un concetto oggettivo della ragione poiché non si tratta di trovare una
controparte propria dell‟atto proposizionale che sia indipendente dalla
mente. La res, infatti, è già il correlato oggettuale dell‟intelletto stesso e la
forma con cui l‟intelletto procede nel movimento della rappresentazione è
immediatamente conforme all‟essere reale dell‟oggetto così concepito,
perciò, il termine “estrinseco” o la “materia oggettuale” dell‟intentio mentis
gode di quel tanto di essere oggettivo che possiede in sé (che gli conviene
nella rappresentazione) e non oltre.
La comprensione trascendentale/noetica della ratio entis ut sic è il modo
dell‟esser vero della relazione reale. Il nome della relazione reale in ordo ad
esse è l‟aptitudo realiter ad existentiam. Sarà, dunque, proprio il riferimento
all‟essenza reale di ente a cui rimanda la non-ripugnanza del qualcosa
nel suo “essere obiettivo” a fondare la referenza, nell‟unità della
rappresentazione, della significazione reale di “ente”. Il rapporto circolare
tra concetto ed oggetto, pensabilità e realtà d‟essere, effettività e possibilità
degli enti aprirà storicamente al problema della legittimazione della realtà del
pensato nella struttura propria del pensiero.
Nota
1 Thomas
de Vio, Caetanus, De nominum analogia, capp. 4 (in part. nn. 36-37) e 6 (in part. nn.
67-68). Secondo la ripartizione del Gaetano, esposta all‟inizio del succitato opuscolo, è
possibile ammettere tre generi distinti di analogia: di ineguaglianza, di attribuzione e di
proporzionalità. Senza ripercorrere le ragioni delle distinzioni sarebbe utile far un breve
accenno alla seconda forma della analogia che è quella specificamente preposta alla
predicazione di “ente”. L‟analogia di attribuzione, infatti, ha luogo tra cose il cui nome è
comune ma si predica secondo una ratio differente nel primo analogato a cui il termine
appartiene formalmente giacché è presente al modo della forma inerente al soggetto stesso
e negli altri analogati si trova secondariamente, o per una “denominazione estrinseca”,
giacché la perfezione dell‟essere viene attributo ad altro solo per rispetto a quel primo in cui
veramente è. Così si deve dire anche dell‟ “ente” circa la sostanza egli accidenti dal
momento che non vi è un concetto oggettivo o unico, comune a tutti gli analogati, ma solo
la comunanza della denominazione. Ma se dovessimo fermarci a questo genere specifico di
analogia di attribuzione, giacché la proprietà predicata o la forma analoga non inerisce
intrinsecamente a tutti gli analogati e poiché l‟identità è quella della sola “voc e” o
denominazione, si tratterebbe di una eguaglianza di termini equivoci poiché la comunanza è
quella che passa secundum intentionem ma non secondo l‟ordine dell‟essere. Una analogia
dunque ratificata solo nell‟ordine logico sarebbe eccessivamente debole nelle gravose
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questioni di metafisica laddove tutta la nostra conoscenza attorno a Dio è vera solo in
quanto possiamo ascendere a Lui analogando dalle creature e se il valore della analogia
fosse solo logico o cognitivo allora la conoscenza di Dio risulterebbe non autenticamente
reale, per questa ragione il Gaetano opta per una analogia che salvaguardi l‟intrinsecità della
forma analogata in ogni membro della predicazione seppure con proporzionalità essenziali
differenti. Parlando infatti della preferenza concessa alla analogia di proporzionalità egli
dice: “Sciums, secundum hanc analogiam, rerum intrinsecas entitates, bonitates, veritates,
ect., quod ex priori analogia (attributionis) non scitur; unde sine huiusmodi analogiae notitia
metaphysicales processus absque arte discuntur” (De nominum analogia, cap.3).
2 Sull‟argomento del “non-nihil” si consideri la riflessione rafforzativa di A. Gnemmi 1969,
74 ss. Si potrebbe legittimamente inferire che tutta l‟argomentazione addotta da Gnemmi
circa il semantema dell‟essere come “non-nihil” possa ricondursi a due conclusioni
fondamentalmente: 1) l‟ente in quanto tale è la negazione della “negazione assoluta” (nonessere), mentre l‟ente in quanto tale, nella sua esistenza singolarmente determinata e nella
sua essenza specifica, è negazione della “negazione relativa” dell‟alterità: l‟essere, in altri
termini, non è non-essere e l‟esser-tale non può essere tal-altro. Più che parlare di
negazione primaria e doppia per definire la ragione dell‟essere di ente si potrebbe parlare
meno radicalmente di opposizione primaria tra ciò che è e il non essere e la categoria della
opposizione rimane pur sempre una relazione diatica tra membri differenti. La ripugnanza
al non essere assoluto che è la ragione della comune convenienza di tutto ciò che si predica
essere “ente” non è una auto-fondazione a cui giunge l‟atto egologico dell‟intelletto ma è
una relazione, sebbene negativa, tra due membri la cui opposizione genera una qualche
positività o un genere proprio di minus esse che è quello che compete all‟ente in quanto extra
nihilo, in altri termini, intrinsecamente ratificato nella sua ragione formale in quanto potenza
passiva atta ad esistere per mezzo di una relazione reale che la renda effettività.
3 Circa la dottrina per la quale l‟apprensione dell‟essenza esclude qualsiasi riferimento
all‟essere effettivo è possibile ravvisare una linea di continuità con la posizione avicenniana
e la prossimità di questa tradizione, giunta a Suárez, tramite la Summa Theologica di Enrico di
Gand. Sarebbe necessario situare la posizione dell‟ Esimio proprio in continuità e rottura
con le dottrine canonizzate dalla tradizione per mostrarne l‟atto unitario del suo sincretismo
e la portata rivoluzionaria della sua “sistematizzazione” per la tradizione della filosofia
moderna. L‟essere avicinneniano è non già un accidente dell‟essenza nella misura in cui
l‟essenza è neutra o indifferente alla singolarità o alla universalità ed ai modi differenti di
esistenza sia quando è oggetto di concepimento intellettivo, sia quando la si considera
effettività attuale o congiunta all‟essenza specifica di un dato ente, ma è piuttosto id quod
accidit quidditati , ciò che “accade” estrinsecamente all‟essenza possibile dell‟ente e proprio
nella misura in cui ciò che spetta ad un data cosa per se stessa (l‟essenza non-necessaria o
indifferente neutralmente all‟esistenza) , ha un precedenza per l‟intelletto rispetto a ciò che
all‟effetto spetta per altro da sé (l‟esistenza), solo in questo senso si può concludere che l‟
esistenza accade all‟essenza dell‟effettuato per una “posteriorità per essenza”. L‟essere è
predicato non come una intrinseca determinazione dell‟ente ma come una estrinseca
inclusione per altro da sé. Ogni essere reale è un‟ essenza realizzata e necessariamente posta
nell‟ordine effettivo dell‟esistenza a partire dalla necessaria esistenza, sempiterna e
continuativa della Causa Prima o, in altri termini, Dio. L‟essenza esistente è, perciò, un
possibile realizzato. L‟esistenza non deriva dall‟essenza e ne costituisce una determinazione
ulteriore. L‟esistenza si presenta come un concomitante estrinseco all‟essenza presa nella
sua semplice quiddità ma l‟accompagna necessariamente in virtù della Causa Prima che la
realizza. L‟essere dell‟essenza creaturale, perciò, non è l‟atto primo che Dio le conferisce
rendendola un composito individuale di modo che entrambi, essenza ed esistenza siano
“principi metafisici” che dall‟interno definiscano il modo costitutivo dell‟ente, ma
una aggiunta la cui ragione formale non è presente essenzialmente nella creatura ma le
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deriva estrinsecamente dalla ragione essenziale di un Primo. L‟esistenza delle essenze
possibili è lo stesso possibile in quanto necessitato ad esistere dalla causa (Avicenna 2006,
Trattato VI). Mi preme, brevemente, sottolineare come questo il principio dal quale Suárez,
pur prendendo le mosse, ne diverga in ultimo. L‟atto d‟essere non è un “accadere”
necessario per altro da sé che sopravviene all‟essenza dell‟ente e perciò tale da ricondurre
l‟essenza dell‟effetto alla semplice possibilità visto che questo “stato” della concezione
comune della ragione di ente è da considerare per Suàrez solo la parte oggettiva o il termine
obiettivo della intellezione. La convenienza tra tutte le cose trova il suo fondamento anche
nell‟atto d‟essere che è la parte formale del concetto di ente proprio perché la possibilità
dell‟essenza e il porsi, primariamente, al di fuori del nulla, è condizione di pensabilità anche
della relazione efficiente che la lega alla azione creativa di Dio in grado di rimetterla
nell‟ordine attuale proprio dell‟esistenza. La ragione formale dell‟atto d‟essere si risolve
nella ragione oggettiva della possibilità essenziale, tanto che l‟unità del concetto oggettivo
rinvia ad una unità individuale che non è più un aggregato composito di due principi
metafisici, essere ed essenza, ma stati diversi (quello dell‟attualità dell‟essenza e della
possibilità semplice della negazione del ni-ente) di un unico atto entitativo. L‟essenza è, al
pari della posizione avicenniana, indifferente alle modalità dell‟esistenza e perciò è
concepibile separatamente dall‟essere attuale che non rientra nella sua immediata
definizione, ma l‟atto d‟essere non deriva all‟effetto in virtù della necessaria essenza divina
perché il primo spettro di significazione del possibile, in Suárez, comprende in sé anche
Dio (come ente sebbene infinito), che non è altro che la prima divisione del concetto
oggettivo di ente nei suoi “inferiori”. La potenza intesa in senso “trascendentale” o
oggettivo è la significazione prima della “potenza reale” (determinabile, poi, come attiva o
passiva). Enrico di Gand riceve la tradizione “essenzialistica” di impronta avicenniana
accidentalizzando l‟ordine dell‟essere e ponendo il peso ontologico dell‟ente nell‟essenza
intesa come “idea divina” posta fuori dall‟essenza creatrice tramite l‟aggiunta dell‟esistenza.
Con ciò si determina o, meglio si legittima, il carattere contingente dell‟esistenza creaturale
e poiché il possibile inizia ad essere in virtù di ciò che è necessario si dovrà giungere
all‟ammissione di un Primo ente necessario, il cui essere è l‟essere stesso, che permetta la
convenienza dell‟essere nell‟essenza del possibile. Suárez in parte avrà la stessa esigenza di
determinare lo statuto autonomo dell‟essenza di ente, diversa dall‟essere che acquista per
partecipazione nell‟esemplare divino, la cui prima divisione sarà quella di finito-infinito
(contingente-necessario).
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Heider, Daniel. 2007. “Suárez on the Concept of Being: Is Suárez‟s concept of Being
analogical or univocal?”. American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 81: 21-42.
Heider, Daniel. 2014. Universals in Second Scholasticism. A comparative study with focus on the
theories of Francisco Suárez S.J. (1548-1617), João Poinsot O.P. (1589-1644) and
Bartolomeo Mastri da Meldola O.F.M. Conv. (1602-1673) / Bonaventura Belluto O.F.M.
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Honnefelder, Ludger. 1990. Scientia transcendens. Die formale Bestimmung der Seiendheit und
Realität in der Metaphysik des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit (Duns Scotus- Suàrez- WolffKant- Peirce). Hamburg: Meiner.
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Porro, Pasquale. 1996. “Possibilità ed esse essentiae in Enrico di Gand”. In Henry of Ghent.
Proceedings of the International Colloquium on the Occasion of the 700th Anniversary of his
Death (1293), edited by W. Vanhamel, 211-253. Leuven: Leuven University Press.
Prieto, Leopoldo. 2006. “Francisco Suárez e Tommaso d´Aquino”. In Villagrasa, Jesús (a
cura di). Neotomismo & Suarezismo. Il confronto di Cornelio Fabro. 91-136. Roma:
Ateneo Pontificio Regina Apostolorum.
Riva, Franco. 1979. “La dottrina suareziana del concetto e le sue fonti storiche”. Rivista di
Filosofia neo-scolastica 71: 686- 699.
Schwartz, Daniel. (ed.). 2012. Interpreting Suárez. Critical Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Salas, Victor M., Fastiggi, Robert L. (eds.). 2015. A Companion to Francisco Suárez. Brill‟s
Companions to the Christian Tradition 53. Leiden: Brill.
Siewerth, Gustav. 1959. Das Schicksal der Metaphysik von Thomas zu Heidegger. Einsiedeln:
Johannes Verlag.
Suárez, Francesco. 1965. Disputationes metaphsycicae (DM), voll. 25 e 26 degli Opera Omnia
(Vivès); rist.an.Hildesheim: Georg Olms (traduzione parziale in italiano: F. Suárez,
Disputazioni metafisiche. 2007. a cura di C.Esposito, testo latino a fronte, Milano:
Bompiani, collana “Testi a fronte”).
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Pierfrancesco STAGI*
Intervista con Tudor Petcu **
TP: Che significa per Lei il rapporto tra filosofia e religione e come possiamo trovare
il punto comune tra filosofia e religione?
PS: Per trovare un punto comune tra filosofia e religione bisogna
inizialmente imparare a distinguerle e considerarle nella loro irriducibile
differenza. A ragione Kant nel suo Conflitto delle Facoltà (1798) si occupa di
distinguere l‟ambito di pertinenza della religione da quello della filosofia.
Spesso negli ultimi decenni è invalso soprattutto in Italia (ma anche in
Francia, poco fortunatamente in Germania) l‟uso di mescolare termini filosofici
con espressioni teologiche, richiamandosi erroneamente ad Heidegger, che
invece amava tenere rigidamente distinte le due discipline. La filosofia è una
disciplina altamente “specializzata”, che richiede una formazione specifica e
un linguaggio altrettanto complesso per essere praticata, mentre la religione
appartiene a un substrato popolare e di massa, che non richiede se non in
modo elementare di una formazione specifica. La prima distinzione è,
quindi, di carattere linguistico: il linguaggio della filosofia è un linguaggio
tecnico, che è appreso attraverso un complesso percorso di formazione,
mentre il linguaggio della religione ha una dimensione più diretta e
spontanea, che abbisogna soltanto di una formazione elementare e di base.
L‟elemento, tuttavia, unificante tra la filosofia e la religione è che
entrambe sono insiemi linguistici regionali, o “giochi linguistici” (Sprachspiele),
secondo l‟uso di Wittgenstein, che fa sì che siano parlati da comunità
piuttosto ristrette di interpreti che condividono insieme allo stesso uso
linguistico, le stesse esperienze. Il filosofo, come l‟uomo religioso, parlano
Abilitato a Professore Associato in Filosofia Morale 11/C3 (ASN 2012), è dottore di
ricerca in Filosofia ed Ermeneutica filosofica presso l‟Università di Torino (XVII ciclo)
e Dr. Phil. presso le Università di Tübingen e Freiburg i. Br. Filosofo della religione, è uno
dei maggiori conoscitori a livello internazionale del pensiero religioso di Heidegger. Ha
pubblicato diversi volumi sul pensiero religioso contemporaneo e sui legami tra il mondo
moderno e il cristianesimo (Ch. Taylor, Habermas, Derrida). In collaborazione con
Heinrich Heidegger, il nipote del filosofo, ha scritto due libri di memorie e ricordi: Martin
Heidegger. Mio zio (2011) e Martin Heidegger. Ein Privatporträt zwischen Religion und Politik (2012).
Dall‟editore Borla di Roma è uscita nel 2014 nella collana Cultura Cristiana Antica una
monografia dedicata alla filosofia della religione di Benedetto da Norcia, il padre del
monachesimo occidentale. Pubblica sulle principali riviste di filosofia dell a religione,
ermeneutica, filosofia morale e scienza delle religioni a livello internazionale: «Filosofia e
Teologia», «Annuario di Filosofia», «Rivista di Filosofia Neo-Scolastica».
** Università di Bucarest, Romania; email: [email protected]
*
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una lingua compresa da un altro filosofo che fa riferimento a esperienze che
verosimilmente entrambi hanno compiuto e rende loro possibile collegare
un determinato uso linguistico a una determinata esperienza. Se la filosofia
ha dai suoi esordi sempre avuto la consapevolezza di usare un linguaggio
compreso da pochi iniziati, per la religione questa è una consapevolezza che
con difficoltà si è fatta largo nella modernità. La religione, infatti, ha per
lungo tempo incarnato il linguaggio parlato da tutta la comunità, una sorta
di linguaggio universale in cui venivano tradotti tutti i linguaggi particolari,
quindi anche il linguaggio filosofico, artistico, scientifico. La sua era una
koinédiàlektos che costituiva il principio di traducibilità (e di comprensibilità)
di tutti gli altri linguaggi. La secolarizzazione ha introdotto una cesura
epistemologica che ha reso incomprensibile quel linguaggio, ne ha intaccato
la grammatica e ne ha reso estraneo il lessico, mettendo in discussione la
traducibilità universale della lingua religiosa su cui si era fondato per secoli
l‟Occidente cristiano.
Ora il linguaggio religioso è divenuto un linguaggio tra gli altri, un
linguaggio “regionale”, che è compreso e “parlato” da una comunità
ristretta di parlanti che condivide per educazione o per adesione volontaria
un insieme comune di esperienze. La comprensibilità di questo linguaggio è
limitate e richiede una traduzione per poter essere compresa. L‟immediatezza
del linguaggio religioso, in cui tutte le lingue particolari trovavano la propria
universale traducibilità, si è ristretta a un linguaggio particolare, comunitario.
La secolarizzazione fin dai suoi esordi ha dovuto colmare questo vuoto del
linguaggio religioso creando un nuovo linguaggio, che permettesse ai
cittadini di comprendersi e ala cultura di progredire senza più il riferimento
esclusivo al linguaggio religioso. Nella creazione di questo nuovo linguaggio
la filosofia ha dato un contributo sostanziale a partire dalla metà del XVII
sec. dopo le guerre di religione che avevano tormentato l‟Europa continentale.
Bisognava creare un terreno neutro, un linguaggio quanto più possibile
neutrale, in cui i diversi linguaggi particolari: la politica, l‟arte, la scienza
potessero incontrarsi e dialogare senza confliggere tra loro. Come ha
ricordato Habermas nella Teoria dell’agire comunicativo (1981) la filosofia ha
assunto il ruolo di un “traduttore” universale, che si costituisce come un
ponte tra due diverse esperienze e tra due differenti linguaggi “regionali”.
Mantenendo il suo legame con il linguaggio dell‟esperienza, con la sua
fugace articolazione, la filosofia pretende di “secolarizzare” i linguaggi non
ancora completamente secolarizzati.E‟ una attività secolarizzatrice quella
della filosofia che rende possibile il dialogo tra le differenti aree del
linguaggio e della civilizzazione umane, che, tuttavia, è ben diversa dalla
riduzione della molteplicità dei linguaggi all‟unico linguaggio della scienza,
della verificabilità fattuale. La filosofia ha il compito di rendere comprensibili i
linguaggi, di permettere il loro reciproco scambio, permettendo una
traduzione quanto più vicina alla vita e all‟esperienza e all‟esistenza.
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Per questa ragione se in passato il linguaggio religioso e quello filosofico
si sono sovrapposti perché la filosofia per poter essere compresa doveva
parlare il linguaggio della religione, ora è piuttosto la religione che per essere
compresa deve consentire alla filosofia di tradurla nel linguaggio della vita e
dell‟esistenza.
TP: Se noi parliamo sul dialogo tra religione e filosofia, come può la religione avere
un dialogo con la scienza?
PS: Per parlare del rapporto di religione e scienza bisogna tornare a
riferirsi alla difficile arte della distinzione. Che cosa si intende per scienza?
L‟attività scientifica quale è svolta nelle università e nei centri di ricerca sta
diventando sempre più una attività superspecializzata che mantiene pochi,
se non pochissimi legami con il resto del mondo del sapere. La verifica
sperimentale delle esperienze condotte in laboratorio è l‟unico tribunale
davanti al quale ritiene di doversi presentare. Gli interventi pubblici degli
scienziati sono rarissimi e si riducono molto spesso a opinioni personali e
generali, che poco hanno a che fare con l‟attività di ricerca scientifica
sempre più atomizzata e parcellizzata che svolgono, per cui ogni scienziato
conosce ed è garante del suo minuscolo pezzo di sapere, per il resto
condivide con l‟uomo comune una qualsiasi (e spesso dozzinale in quanto
non-riflessa) visione del mondo. Altra cosa è la pretesa scientifica di verifica
dei fatti che è ormai divenuto il refrain della condizione culturale del nostro
tempo: nulla è vero se non accade, se non possiede una dimensione fattuale
che è possibile conoscere “direttamente” con l‟ausilio dei 5 sensi, ma con la
vista, una delle grandi ossessioni della cultura occidentale. Ne è nato un
linguaggio scientista, che cerca goffamente di imitare il procedimento
scientifico, che nutre sospetto verso ogni affermazione che non sia possibile
constare direttamente o meglio ancora che contrasta con il sensuscommunis
omnium. Ciò che tutti possono facilmente comprendere sulla base del
proprio senso comune è ciò che è vero, al contrario ciò che contrasta con il
senso comune diventa subito sospetto. La scienza, o almeno il senso
scientifico della realtà, è appiattito sul senso comune, sull‟esperienza
quotidiana della realtà. Essa è definita come il metro di giudizio in generale
della realtà. È vero e reale ciò che si sottopone senza troppi problemi al
senso comune.
La religione in tal senso fondando le sue affermazioni su una realtà
estranea al senso comune viene sempre più vista con sospetto nel mondo
tardo moderno. Le realtà della religione si oppongono al senso comune che
si fonda sulla verificabilità, mentre la religione appartiene a un universo di
realtà più antico della scienza, in cui il dire mitologico non aveva bisogno
dell‟istanza della verificazione per essere detto vero. Quando si parla di
coesistenza tra sapere scientifico e religiosa riguarda anche la capacità che
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una società di studiosi, ma più in generale una società, di far convivere al
suo interno visioni del mondo diverse, anche provenienti da regioni e da
sensibilità storiche diverse dal nostro. Cade in errore la scienza e lo spirito
scientifico quando vogliono da sole saturare l‟intero ambito della discussione
pubblica, non lasciando spazio a nessun‟altra visione del mondo, così come
sbaglia la religione che voglia da sola dominare la scena pubblica. Entrambe,
religione e scienza, devono avere l‟umiltà di riconoscere l‟altro da sé e
garantirgli diritto di esistenza, in modo che visioni del mondo diverse, e
forse tra loro inconciliabili, possano vivere insieme nello stesso spazio
pubblico, non combattendosi ma arricchendolo ognuna in base alle proprie
esperienze e “ragioni”.
TP: Perché la religione ha bisogno della filosofia e la filosofia della religione dal suo
punto di vista?
PS: Come ho spiegato prima, la filosofia e la religione sono ambiti separati
ed è giusto che rimangano tali. Quando si è cercato di riportarli a una unità,
come nella filosofia dello Spirito di Hegel, si è commesso un grande errore,
perché entrambe perdevano della propria necessaria specificità e a ragione
Schopenhauer e Kierkegaard ne hanno criticato l‟esito disumanizzante, che
riduceva la religione a una semplice fase di passaggio, destinata ai popoli
meno evoluti dal punto di vista spirituale, e la filosofia come il faro assoluto
che superava e rendeva “passata” la religione stessa.
Per comprendere l‟utilità della filosofia per la religione (e della religione
per la filosofia) non posso non riferirsi alla distinzione tra l‟esistenzialismo
ateo di Sartre e Camus e l‟esistenzialismo cristiano di Marcel, Pareyson e lo
stesso Ricoeur. La storiografia ha per decenni parlato di due forme
completamente differenti di esistenzialismo, come se fossero due figli che
non si somigliano per nulla, pur provenendo dallo stesso padre: Kierkegaard
e la dissoluzione dell‟hegelismo. Tuttavia, a mio avviso considerando
l‟esistenzialismo come una abitazione in cui vivono due separati in casa, non
si riesce a cogliere la profonda unità che è alla base dei due movimenti.
Ciò che li differenzia è certamente la diversa posizione di fronte alla
fenomenologia: Pareyson ne misconosce completamente l‟utilità, connettendo
l‟esistenzialismo direttamente a Jaspers senza la necessità di passare per il
pensiero fenomenologico, mentre il giovane Sartre (L’immaginario e L’essere e
il nulla) mostra come sia impossibile fare una filosofia dell‟esistenza (o
esistenzialismo, anche se l‟espressione allo stesso Sartre non è mai piaciuta)
senza passare attraverso all‟esperienza fenomenologica. La fenomenologia
permette di mantenere un forte legame con la finitezza dell‟esistenza, perché
la coscienza umana è sempre proiettata vicino, accanto all‟oggetto, non è
mai slegata da essa. Pensare che Dio possa essere intenzionato in modo
slegato dalla coscienza è impossibile.
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Il filosofo non può mai guardare Dio se non affacciandosi alla finestra
della coscienza. Una visione diretta come nella teologia gli è preclusa. Il
filosofo può solo guardare la finitezza e articolarne a livello esistenziale il
possesso. Tutt‟al più può vedere riflessa nella finitezza l‟immagine di Dio.
Ecco il motivo per cui l‟esistenzialismo ateo ed esistenzialismo cristiano non
possono essere scissi in modo così radicale, in quanto entrambi partono dal
primato filosofico dell‟esistenza, anche se gli uni vedono riflessa nell‟esistenza
soltanto l‟immagine della coscienza, del soggetto, che intenziona la realtà, gli
altri, invece, leggono nella finitezza le tracce di una inspiegabile alterità.
Una volta assodato questo punto, possiamo riconoscere, che pur nella
loro radicale alterità, la religione e la filosofia possono dialogare con
reciproca utilità e vantaggio. Da questo punto di vista è essenziale il
contributo che ha dato Rudolf Bultmann a questo dialogo. Spesso
Bultmann non è stato compreso nel modo giusto perché sia pensava
che in Nuovo Testamento e mitologia volesse secolarizzare la religione cristiana,
deprivandola del suo apparato mitologico e riducendola a un discorso
“laico” sull‟umanità, mentre il suo intento era piuttosto quella di aiutare la
religione a radicare in chiave esistenziale i suoi concetti. La religione dal
punto di vista fenomenologico, qui non è ancora in discussione la sua verità,
usa concetti tratti dall‟esistenza e lo fa (a differenza del sapere filosofico)
secondo uno schema mitologico o prelogico. La filosofia può aiutare la
religione a chiarire questi concetti mostrando come si collocano nell‟esistenza
e il contributo che essi possono dare alla civile convivenza. Il ruolo e il
contributo che la filosofia può dare alla religione è di tipo ermeneutico,
ossia può aiutarla come vuole Habermas a tradurre i suoi concetti
“mitologici” e la loro portata veritativa sul piano del confronto e del dialogo
moderno tra le religioni. A questo proposito la filosofia della religione
con la sua competenza specifica in materia può essere uno strumento
particolarmente efficace per condurre questo dialogo tra religione e
società civile, oggi tanto più necessario in un contesto in cui le religioni si
scontrano in modo sempre più violento all‟interno della società a causa
dell‟intensificarsi degli scambi e degli intrecci migratori.
TP: Qual e la sua opinione sulla filosofia della religione e qual e la sua importanza
in Italia? Come capisce Lei la significazione della filosofia della religione ma anche la sua
evoluzione?
PS: Lo statuto della filosofia della religione in Italia è ambiguo a livello
accademico e ciò è causa della sua debolezza. Essa non possiede un ambito
disciplinare prestabilito come per altre filosofie “speciali”, estetica filosofia
del linguaggio filosofia della scienza, ma è di volta in volta inclusa all‟interno
della Filosofia Teoretica o della Filosofia Morale e Pratica. In passato si
preferiva inserirla all‟interno della Filosofia Teoretica, perché si supponeva
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(erroneamente) che l‟oggetto della filosofia della Religione dovesse essere
Dio o l‟ente sommo e che dovesse avere il carattere di una teologia
filosofica. La confusione tra Metafisica e Filosofia della Religione ha nociuto
non poco alla seconda, perché ha dato l‟impressione che si potesse fare una
filosofia, mescolando aspetti religiosi e aspetti filosofici con l‟uso di un
linguaggio oscuro e allusivo. Ma questa non è filosofia della religione, e a
mio avviso neppure filosofia, piuttosto una teologia filosofica o razionale.
Più adeguato è l‟accostamento tra la filosofia della religione e la filosofia
morale in quanto la filosofia della religione studia le modalità con cui
l‟uomo articola il suo comportamento in relazione al sacro. Essa ha, quindi,
a che fare con l‟etica, è una parte integrante dell‟etica, studiando gli “effetti”
che il comportamento dell‟uomo subisce quando incontra, fa esperienza di
un contenuto sacro.
Per quanto riguarda la filosofia della religione, possiamo in breve
schizzare il seguente quadro, che vede il predominio, ormai soltanto
spirituale e morale della Chiesa Cattolica, che ha a lungo nutrito forti
sospetti verso la filosofia della religione; si pensi che importanti Università
cattoliche in Italia non hanno mai attivato corsi di filosofia della religione,
preferendo un discorso più metafisicamente fondato, che si richiama ai
filosofi della grecità, tralasciando il confronto con la filosofia di matrice
protestante e con la teologia protestante della modernità e della
contemporaneità. Questo ha creato una forte arretratezza degli studi di
filosofia della religione in Italia almeno fino al 1945. Tuttavia, non è il caso
qui di ripercorrere l‟evoluzione della filosofia cattolica in Italia, cosa che ha
fatto molto bene Prini in La filosofia cattolica italiana nel Novecento (1989), ma
possiamo dire che a parte alcune figure del passato (Pareyson, Caracciolo,
Mancini) nella contemporaneità l‟università italiana vede la presenza di
riconosciute figure provenienti dal mondo cattolico, ma che incidono in
molto limitato nel dibattito culturale odierno, manca loro quella incidenza
nel presente, quel confronto con la cultura laica e secolarizzata che invece in
altri paesi, come la Francia, è avvenuto e avviene da decenni. Il filosofo
cattolico odierno sembra confinato in un recinto di temi e di autori probati
dal quale sono di raro e con un certo timore cerca di sortire. Autori a loro
volta pubblicati e letti da un pubblico già a sua volta appartenente a quel
mondo. Un circuito chiuso e identitario da cui la cultura filosofica cattolica
oggi fatica a uscire, chiusa tra il richiamo all‟identità e l‟insignificanza nel
mondo secolarizzato postmoderno. Non riescono a entrare nel dibattito, si
tengono (e vengono tenuti) ai margini del dibattito dell‟opinione pubblica e
citati di volta in volta solo per impersonare questa o quella posizione della
Chiesa Cattolica (ormai più soltanto posizione del Papa di turno).
Per l‟altro verso, invece, si hanno autori laici che si confrontano e si sono
confrontati liberamente (spesso molto liberamente) con l‟eredità religiosa,
penso in particolare a Vattimo, Agamben, Cacciari. In questo caso si è
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caduti nell‟errore opposto, in un arbitrarismo nel considerare l‟eredità
cristiana che ne ha stravolto completamente il volto. Si fa davvero fatica a
riconoscere il messaggio cristiano sotto le spoglie di una filosofia che
mescola di continuo elementi religiosi e concettualità filosofica, in una
mescolanza certo geniale e produttiva ma dipendente più dalla formazione
personale che dalla coerenza con il messaggio evangelico. Non v‟è dubbio
che tra le due correnti sia da preferirsi la seconda perché entra in un
fecondo contatto con la filosofia contemporanea soprattutto in Francia
(Lévinas, Derrida), mentre la prima rimane confinata in un ambiente
piuttosto chiuso e clericale. E non riesce a entrare in dialogo con la filosofia
europea e americana. In tal senso, la filosofia della religione italiana deve
uscire da una certa sudditanza (più personale che filosofica) nei confronti
delle strutture della Chiesa Cattolica per aprirsi a un dialogo fecondo e
rischioso con la contemporaneità, senza temere di perdere nulla di ciò che
gelosamente conserva ma mettendolo a confronto con le tendenze più
avanzate del mondo contemporaneo. Solo così la filosofia cattolica può
uscire dalla sua “riserva indiana”, dalle sicurezze rassicuranti di un mondo
che si conosce e da cui ci si sente protetti, per avventurarsi nel mare
burrascoso della postmodernità in cui si incontrano e si scontrano le
filosofie contemporanee.
TP: Vorrei anche sapere come esatto capisce Lei la ragione della filosofia e la ragione
della religione.
PS: Devo dire che il termine stesso di “ragione” non mi risulta
particolarmente caro o familiare. Così come non lo è neppure il suo
contrario: la mancanza di ragione o irrazionalità. Entrambi risentono di una
impostazione problematica ottocentesca, hegeliana e posthegeliana, che
deve essere superata. Prima della ragione, esistono fatti di cui si occupa il
sapere filosofico e fenomenologico. Per cui io parlerei di un fatto della
filosofia e fatto della religione. Parto dal presupposto che la filosofia e la
religione condividono una unità originaria nella fatticità della vita, la
Faktizität di cui parla Heidegger negli anni „20 nella sua Fenomenologia della
vita religiosa. Dalla fatticità attraverso una sua ermeneutica nascono sia la
religione sia la filosofia (si veda sempre di Heidegger Ontologia. Ermeneutica
dell’effettività). Se si vuole parlare di una ragione della filosofia e di una
ragione della religione bisogna quindi riferirsi al diverso modo in cui
articolano questa fatticità interpretandola. La filosofia e la religione sono
interpretazioni diverse di una stessa appartenenza alla fatticità dell‟esistenza,
in quanto diverse possiedono ognuna una sua peculiare modalità di
articolare questo stesso contenuto, che ha una sua storia e una sua strategia
interpretativa che non può essere ridotta a quella dell‟altra. La religione è
vera religione quando in coerenza con la sua modalità di interpretare
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riarticola sempre di nuovo questo patrimonio linguistico-dottrinale. Certo,
come abbiamo visto può cercare il sostegno delle discipline scientifiche
come la filosofia, ma in ogni modo ha l‟obbligo di proseguire per la sua
strada in coerenza con la sua propria modalità ermeneutica.
Lo stesso discorso vale per la filosofia. Il compito della filosofia è di
articolare interpretando l‟appartenenza alla fatticità della vita, secondo una
modalità che a differenza della religione articola il proprio contenuto
nell‟unità del logos, di un discorso unitario che parta dalla molteplicità della
fatticità per riportarla a un principio unitario, anche quando si riconosco
che non esiste un principio. Mentre la religione articola la fatticità
interpretandola sulla base di un discorso mitico che la giustifica partendo da
un‟unità che non è discorsiva ma poetico-immaginifica. Il momento
discorsivo nella religione è secondario, mentre nella filosofia è primario.
291

Introduction About Translation and Interpretation

Transcription

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